


I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes

by Dawnwind



Category: The Invisible Man (TV 2000)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-23
Updated: 2013-07-23
Packaged: 2017-12-21 04:02:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 35,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/895549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dawnwind/pseuds/Dawnwind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is episode three of the Invisible Man virtual third season. Fawkes and Hobbes investigate the death of a research scientist and discover that someone has been smuggling poisonous spiders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Don't Like Spiders and Snakes

**Author's Note:**

> The Invisible Man virtual season was written and produced by a wide variety of authors--for more of the stories: http://www.invisiblemanvs.net/

_Right there at the beginning of the Bible, God says to the serpent "Because you have done this, cursed are you above all cattle and above all wild animals, upon your belly you shall go." But frankly, I think the snake gets the raw end of the deal, sometimes. He didn't really do all that much except show Eve the apple. She didn't have to eat it. Now, you notice, Genesis doesn't say anything about spiders. In my opinion, that's because spiders are like con men; they spin a fine web, lookin' all pretty and then bite you in the butt when you least expect it. The snake was all out there, looking guilty, but a spider knows how to hide, deceiving its victims just before she strikes to kill…_

"To quote Webster's English Dictionary, a phobia is a persistent, illogical fear," the moderator, a tall Asian-American with a thick black braid hanging down his back explained. "Arachnophobia is one of the most prevalent of all phobias. All of you must suffer from some form of this fear, or you wouldn't be here." He paused, glancing around at the small group who had assembled to conquer their fear of spiders, "to conquer our worst fear is a feat as difficult as climbing Mt. Everest, but that is what we intend to do in this workshop."

Joe Chen droned on but Darien Fawkes had given up listening. Having been forced to waste a perfectly good day off at the insistence of both his partner, Bobby Hobbes, and his Keeper, he felt he was under no obligation to enjoy the situation. He'd been ordered to attend the desensitization therapy session aimed at helping those with arachnophobia come to terms with the irrationality of their fear more or less on pain or, if not death, then public humiliation. 

To Darien's way of thinking, everyone had things that bugged them; his just happened to _be_ a bug. He simply did not, however, consider himself phobic. More that he harbored, as he put it to his partner, a healthy respect for the 'ookiness' of the arachnid line. 

When his Keeper Claire had read about the desensitization therapy course being held on the University of California San Diego campus, she had signed him up, without his consent. So, here he was stuck inside a stifling classroom on a beautiful, blue-sky, perfect Southern Californian Saturday listening to half a dozen phobic individuals pour out their sob stories about why they too took exception to being in the same room with an eight-legged member of the arachnid family.

"Thank you, Marcella, for your honesty about such a frightening experience from your childhood." Joe Chen nodded earnestly, flipping his head so forcefully the long braid bounced over his shoulder. He flicked it back with a gesture that was obviously habit. "Now, Sylvia, do you think you can tell us anything about your phobia?"

"I just can't **stand** them," Sylvia, a wispy blonde of indeterminate middle age said forcefully, "those wiggly legs creeping up your arm in the night to burrow into your ear…"

Darien slid down in his chair to rest on his coccyx and settled his chin on his chest in the hopes of looking like he was listening intently, when in reality he was running through various escape scenarios, up to and including resorting to using his surgically implanted invisibility gland, regardless of his position mid-room. The urgency of the need to escape was mounting as his turn to relate the origin of his phobia approached. 

He hunched his shoulders up around his ears in the wan hope of drowning out Sylvia's admittedly creepy description of her close encounter of the spider kind. The woman was wasted in whatever career she made her living at. She'd be much better off giving Stephan King a run for his money in the spine-chilling department. Darien only hoped her nightmarish renditions wouldn't appear in his own dreams in the near future.

Since several other members of the groups were turning pale from Sylvia's overly enthusiastic rendition of spider fright, Joe Chen must have agreed with that assessment because the instructor hastily thanked her in mid-sentence, giving the floor over to Marie. 

She was tiny, dark skinned, utterly beautiful. And began her tale in such a soft voice that most of the group had to lean forward to hear. Darien was already way over his scary story quota for the day and tuned her out completely. The time for escape was imminent: it was now or never. Unless an earthquake occurred in the next few minutes and swallowed him whole, he was up next. _Once more into the breech_ , as Lord Nelson once said.

Besides, he didn't really have anything to say. He wasn't about to admit to a totally illogical fear of dubious origin. Not when the rest of the group clearly had just cause in developing theirs. Obviously, all of the others had to assume that he had some problems with eight-legged bugs, too, since he was already in the group and it was probably way too late to act like a reporter writing a story on phobia desensitization. But being in the group and talking about his…dislike of spiders were two different things. Either way, it was embarrassing. Six foot three, for God's sake, and scared of a tiny bug smaller than one of his fingers. Stupid.

Liam was the only other male in the group. A bespectacled, balding man with a bookish air and big capable hands, he had been the first to explain his arachnoid experience. He'd gone down the Amazon by raft on a research expedition into the rainforest and been bitten by not one but several large South American spiders, then survived their venom by sheer will power, or so it seemed, and been nursed back to health by his Native Indian guide. Now, he was finding it hard to continue his research because of an overpowering dread of being bitten again. Darien could sympathize. After something like that, he would have changed careers.

Darien had no exciting heroics to compare with Liam's adventures. He couldn't exactly relate the time he'd been fitted with a quicksilver gland in the back of his head and then woken from a coma to be surrounded by half a dozen eight-legged devils who had frightened him into another spectrum, triggering the invisibility as the quicksilver flowed for the first time. 

Not only would they not believe it, it was classified. 

However, it was way more exciting than the fact that a nest of tree spiders had freaked him out so badly as a kid that he'd fallen out of a tree and broken his arm rather than have one crawl over his hand. Now, that was embarrassing. Better not to have to tell it at all. Besides, this 'thing' about spiders wasn't really all that much of a problem anymore. Since Hobbes started going on about it so much, he'd really started working on getting it under control …heck, he'd watched nearly an hour of that gruesome Spielberg movie "Arachnophobia" on the late movie channel just the week before.

Getting up quietly while Marie was speaking of her desire to be able to sing such childish songs as 'Itsy, Bitsy Spider' to her daughter without breaking out in a cold sweat, he made his way to the back of the room. 

He was nearly home free when Joe's friendly voice called out, "Darien? Your turn next. Don't you want to contribute?"

"I just have to…you know." Gesturing vaguely out the door, Fawkes smiled genially, hoping he'd get the hint. No chance to escape sight unseen now, not with every eye in the room directed at him. Liam looked particularly jealous, probably nervous about losing one third of the testosterone in the room

"Come back when you can." Joe said placidly, turning back to the group.

Pushing the door closed, Darien gave a sigh of relief, ready for some afternoon dozing on the beach. Walking down the corridor in the direction of the main exit, he was confronted with a short, balding man barring the door, sipping root beer from a can.

"Where do you think you're going, Fawkesy?" his partner challenged irritably.

"Bobby, man, didn't expect to see you here," Fawkes bluffed, going for innocent.

"No, huh?" Hobbes grinned. "Surprised you?"

"You did. Whattya want, Hobbes?" he whined, caught like a fly in a spider web.

"Just making sure you don't leave." Hobbes leaned against the wall, taking another swig from his soda, "Get your skinny little tucchus back in that room and finish that class." He straightened, coming up under Fawkes' chin, and poking a finger into his sternum, "And I wanna see a Polaroid of you with some nice brown barn spider sitting on your palm."

"But I gotta take a leak."

"Do it later," Hobbes snarled. "After you nearly cost us the Simmons bust just because of a couple of spiders…."

"They were Black Widows," Darien grumbled, slinking back to the classroom. 

"So is that your excuse for that screw up in Tijuana, too? Huh?" Hobbes inquired cynically. "Those weren't even Black Widows, my friend. Hell, they weren't even brown ones."

"There's no such thing as a brown widow," Darien complained under his breath, slinking back into the classroom. 

The whole day was just one white-knuckled thrill ride after another as the class progressed from looking at pictures of spiders and watching videos of spiders to getting up close and personal with a few of Wilber the Pig's friend Charlotte's offspring. 

Joe herded his charges down the hall to a room with wide glass windows and what seemed like hundreds of glass tanks full of spiders and other weird members of the insect world. He pulled out a box with some spiders inside, encouraging the group to come up and touch them. A few brave souls actually put out a tentative finger to touch the harmless little barn spiders inside.

Since Bobby had thrown down the challenge, Darien couldn't possibly refuse the dare, particularly since he knew his tenacious little partner would never let up on the harassment without proof that Fawkes had indeed gotten his fear under control. Of sorts. 

He waited in line to have his picture taken with the small brown spider, shuddering as Marie, an apparent convert to the charms of the eight-legged, encouraged her small visitor with cooed endearments. Darien was afraid he'd be sick before it was his turn to have the inoffensive little creature tipped out of its box and into his palm.

As long as he didn't look directly at the thing flexing its spindly legs on his flesh he was all right. In fact, he was rather proud of himself and smiled bravely while Joe Chen took 'graduation ' pictures. He looked pretty proud of himself, too, beaming at his latest batch of success stories.

Unfortunately, when the spider started to navigate over the uneven surface of Darien's palm, he could feel all his latent anxiety skyrocketing. Without warning, the quicksilver suddenly blossomed at the end of his fingers, inching its way towards the unfortunate arachnid. 

Tipping her hastily into the box Joe held before she froze into a spider-pop, Darien tucked his fingerless hand into his pant's pocket, trying to look as nonchalant as possible under the circumstances. Nobody seemed to notice, and he still got the picture and his anti-defamation evidence to convince his partner that he had done his duty as Hobbes saw it.

 

++++++++++++++++

ACT ONE

 

Working late in his lab, Peregrine Byrd smiled indulgently at the long, elegant snake coiled in the bottom of a glass tank. Jasmine was one of his favorites, with her beautiful sleek paleness. The fact that she was a Taipan, a snake so dangerous that she could easily kill a man with one swift bite, had never deterred his love for her. Cold-blooded she might be, but she was far truer to her nature than most people were. In fact, that was true of almost any creature in the animal kingdom. Byrd didn't care much for mammals, however. He studied the most feared, hated creatures on the planet, each of them deadly predators, with an intensity that bordered on obsessive.

That was why he was in the lab so late. He was never quite able to pull himself away when the other scientists left to go have a friendly drink, then on to their homes and families. These reptiles and spiders were his family, and he was at home and content whenever he was in their presence.

"Come over here, Jasmine," he cooed to the snake, picking her up with a special snake-handling hook, then prying open her jaw to reveal the wickedly sharp fangs that jutted out when her mouth was opened completely. With infinite care, he milked a few precious drops of poisonous nectar from her venom sacks, watching as the cloudy fluid collected in a small test tube. Once Jasmine was back in her tank, he labeled the tube 'Taipan Venom # 10', and placed it into a rack filled with nine identical test tubes. He slid the whole rack into the refrigerator to keep until he began the most important part of his work in the morning.

His work for the day done, Peregrine reluctantly shed his lab coat, locking the laboratory door behind him. He wasn't really looking forward to the frozen dinner that awaited him in his tiny studio apartment, but there was the possibility of some amusement on Discovery channel in the form of a snake documentary. Perhaps if he stopped at the Seven-Eleven for a Slurpee, that would really put the icing on the cake.

With his mind on the treat, Peregrine never noticed the two dark forms lurking down the hall. He was barely out of the building before a rubber-gloved hand quickly pried the door of lab 17 open.

The two dark men, wearing stocking masks to distort their faces, moved through the lab, knowing just what they were after. They headed straight for the fridge and opened the door. The taller of the two men grinned, his expression smashed into a weird fright mask as he picked up a similar looking rack labeled 'Funnel Web Venom', to reveal the rack of snake venom. He lifted it up carefully, fitting both racks into a specially prepared briefcase, then signaled his accomplice to leave. 

+++++++++++++

 

"Nice picture, Fawkes," Alex Monroe said, rolling her eyes. She held the Polaroid of Darien holding the spider just long enough to seem polite then passed it along to Eberts. 

All the top agents for the little-known and under-funded branch of the American government's clandestine spy shop known simply The Agency were assembled in the office of Charles Borden, aka The Official. As usual, none of them were in any way thrilled to be there, especially since it was a Sunday, their normal day of rest and relaxation. 

Darien had to admit he felt pretty smug. He'd conned his way through the spider class so Mr. Not-Afraid-of-a-Widdle-Spider Hobbes would just stop with all the jabs. Tipping back his wooden chair, Darien balanced on the two rear legs, using his own long legs as counter weight. Hobbes sat up primly in his matching chair, like an obsequious teacher's pet. Always angling for a raise, was Bobby Hobbes.

Looking like she was auditioning for a part in the sixties spy fantasy "The Avengers", Alex Monroe lounged against the windowsill, her black leather clad legs crossed at the ankle to show off her Manolo Blannicks. She always managed to look both supercilious and bored at the same time.

"If we could get back to the matter at hand?" the Official intoned. "Before we were so rudely interrupted by Agent Fawkes coming in late." 

Darien freely admitted he'd been late. Hey, he'd negotiated with the Fat Man when he came back to the Agency that he would come in when he felt like it. Who expected a guy to stroll in at 8 A.M. on a Sunday?

Bobby Hobbes smiled, showing all his teeth, like he hoped to get the chance to clean the erasers after school. "We're all waiting for our next assignments, sir."

"All in our places with bright shining faces," Fawkes snarked. "And you all wonder why I come in late?" That earned him a withering glance from Hobbes. What was with him the last few days? Hobbes was either kissing up to the Fat Man or biting Darien's head off.

Eberts handed the spider picture back to the taller agent, then picked up a pile of file folders. After passing them out in his usual efficient but nerdy style, he opened his own copy, holding it up like a teacher beginning a lecture. "I direct your attention to the second page, gentlemen…" Alex arched an eyebrow with a loud huff, and Eberts hastily amended his wording, "and lady." He pointed to a picture of an ugly thick-bodied spider, then flipped the page over to show a large bear.

"The Department of Fish and Game has charged us with the job of uncovering who has been smuggling some very exotic animals into this country," Borden explained. "Our sources say some of it is bound for the Chinese Traditional Medicine trade, but there have been some rare, and deadly, animals brought in illegally that the Chinese apothecaries have no use for. We want to know who is using them and why."

"Hobbesnet will get on it right away, sir!" Hobbes promised, standing. "And may I say that…"

Whatever he planned to say was cut off by the arrival of Claire, Darien's Keeper, looking less than her usual calm, orderly self. "So sorry to intrude, sir," she apologized, "But I may have a case for you."

"We already have a case, Doctor." The Official frowned, tucking his roll of jowls under his chin so they rested on his collarbone.

"Well, might I add that this is somewhat pressing?" she interjected, pulling a blue elastic out of her lab coat pocket and corralling her mane of blond hair into a ponytail. "A friend of mine who works at UCSD called me this morning, quite distraught. He doesn't know where to turn."

"What does he do at UCSD, if I may ask, Doctor?" Eberts asked sweetly.

"Shut up, Eberts," the Fish shushed. "What does he want, Doctor?"

"His research was stolen this morning and he doesn't want to go to the local police due to the sensitive nature of…what was stolen."

"Sounds kinky." Darien perked up, listening more closely. 

"Darien!" Claire admonished, "Peregrine does venom research. He's fascinated by the pharmaceutical potential of some rarer forms of snake and spider venom."

"Oh, no, I was just over there yesterday." He groaned, wrinkling his nose. "I've had enough of creepy crawlies that bite for one weekend. Hobbes, what you got on this smuggling ring?"

"Got to go surf the net, get the particulars, immerse ourselves in the subject." Hobbes mimed riding a surfboard, smiling up at his partner. 

Darien returned the grin with pleasure, glad to be back on his good side for the moment.

"Claire, what was stolen?" Alex asked in annoyance, glancing over at Fawkes and Hobbes as if she'd like to get rid of a bad odor.

"The venom!" she blurted. "Some of it is extremely deadly. He's quite concerned lest it fall into the hands of someone who doesn't know how to deal with it. The anti-venom has to be given immediately if it gets into the bloodstream."

"Well, then, Agent Monroe, since you're so interested, I suggest you go over and interview this Per…?' The Fat Man looked over at Claire for the scientist's name.

"Dr. Peregrine Byrd."

"What, did his parents hate him?" Fawkes asked to no one in particular. "He probably has a sister named Dove."

"Robin," Hobbes supplied. "Good for either a boy or a girl."

"I used to go to school with a girl named Lark," Fawkes added, warming to the subject.

"Birdbrain," Monroe hissed.

"Fawkes, Hobbes, get to work!" the Official ordered. "Monroe, you too. It's time for my…"

"Conference call," Eberts finished smoothly. When the doctor and the three agents had left the room he pulled out a small portable television, using a remote to change to a local network.

The Official and Eberts never missed "The Powerpuff Girls." The cartoon featured three pastel superheroines who were the result of a botched laboratory experiment was so eerily similar to life around the Agency that both made it a point to keep up with the show. 

Charlie Borden perked up as the episode began with the villain mastermind monkey, concocting something evil in his dome shaped lab. "Gotta love that Mojo Jojo," he chuckled

++++++++++++++++

 

"Okay, Hobbesy, tell me again why you're certain we're going to find anything at all down here besides rats and other vermin?" Fawkes asked, carefully picking his way after the shorter man, trying to ignore the strong smell of uncollected garbage and other unmentionables that wafted from the alley they were passing. 

It was one of the seedier wharves in all of San Diego and Darien's skin twitched with the feeling that at any moment someone was going to jump out at them. Not that they wouldn't be ready for them; Hobbes had been drilling him in hand-to-hand combat lately and he'd managed to plug eyeballs on the paper cut-out at the shooting range more than once. Well, twice to be exact. 

Hobbes still wasn't quite confident enough about his partner's shooting skills to let Darien carry a piece which under most circumstances was perfectly all right with him but here… he would have felt safer with an elephant gun under his arm. 

Amazingly, Fawkes' usual bad luck didn't materialize, and they arrived at the address Hobbes had obtained in what was most likely not a completely legit manner without incident. After jimmying open the old fashioned lock in just under a minute, Fawkes swung open the door with a push of his foot. 

Hobbes had his Colt .45 handgun held high and steady, sweeping the entrance with a piercing gaze. Nothing happened, so Darien trailed the little tiger inside the place, looking around. It appeared to be an average warehouse. There were piles of boxes stacked in uneven rows, some covered with dust indicating they'd been here awhile. Most had foreign writing on the side from every corner of the globe: Chinese, German, and some sort of Arabic.

"For your information, smarty pants." Hobbes poked at an open box which apparently only contained packing excelsior. "Hobbesnet has a web over the whole city, with fingers into countless pies. All I have to do is ask the right question and bang," he slammed his fist into the other palm for emphasis, "I've got the answer. Voila, we found our illegally smuggled goods."

"I hate to break this to you, oh-King-of-the-Internet, there aren't any animals here." Fawkes swept out his arms to take in the whole room. "Nary a one. Zilch. Zip." Not even a rat, to his surprise.

"They've been removed," Hobbes explained in his most pedantic, lecturing mode. "Look for clues to show where they were taken. Invoices, anything to give us a location."

"Like a map?" The taller agent pointed to one box that featured an illustration of the state of California on the label.

"You think this is a game, Fawkes?" Hobbes flared, jutting out his chin. 

"No, I just think it's a waste of time when we don’t exactly know what we're supposed to be looking for," he retorted, feeling like he was walking on a tightrope with Hobbes. Ever since they'd returned from a spy school exercise in Tijuana, Hobbes had been practically cracking the whip over him, critically analyzing every move he made when they were on assignment.

"You heard Eberts." He selected a crate from the top of a stack and lifted it down for closer inspection. "Stuff the Chinese medicine men use, like ground up rhino horn and tiger penises."

"Peni?" Fawkes asked with a snort of laughter. Was there a plural for that word?

"Get your mind out of the gutter, Fawkes." 

"And into the warehouse." Darien had to walk away, Hobbes was beginning to grate on his nerves. What had he done to deserve this? 

"Hey, Inviso-boy, think you can maybe get a move on? Maybe check out a few crates?" Hobbes asked irritably, poking into a deep cardboard box. "Don't be afraid to get dirt on that shirt."

"Thought you liked orange, Bobby. Yours gives you that pumpkiny look at Halloween." Darien stifled a sigh when that didn't get a reply and located a pile of crates on the other side of the building. He pried open the lid of a small wooden box with no identification on the top. 

Inside were several smaller wooden boxes, all neatly packed side by side without any space between them. He counted 10, five on top and another five below. All were nicely made little boxes that could have been sold as jewelry boxes in an Asian import store, with smooth beveled edges and tiny brass closures consisting of a pin through a ring. Picking one up, Fawkes slid the pin out, opening the box out of curiosity and promptly dropped it on the floor, his heartbeat jumping from 60 to 160 in the space of a nanosecond.

"Find something, Fawkes?" Hobbes asked, hearing the wooden box clatter loudly to the floor.

"It's a…" He'd taken the damned sensitization therapy for God's sake, he should have been calmer. "A really big spider."

"You had to drop it on the floor?" Hobbes rounded a pile of crates, squatting down to examine the now smashed-to-smithereens box and the large black hairy creature lurking in the rubble.

"Don't touch it, Hobbes, they bite."

"It's dead." He poked at the bulbous body with a pencil, but it didn't move. 

Probably being shipped in a nearly airtight wooden coffin, packed with nine of its buddies inside a crate and left for days without the proper food or water wasn't any better for a spider than it was for a human. Whoever had tried to smuggle it in hadn't read up on spider care very well. 

"I'd say you found what we were looking for in spite of yourself." Hobbes peered at the original crate with the other nine little boxes still inside. "Carry that one back to the van. I'll put this one in an evidence bag."

_Oh, thank you very much, great super agent_ , Darien snarked to himself. I get to tote and carry for you, huh?

Fawkes certainly hoped the rest of those spiders inside were dead too because there was no way on Earth he was going to look in and check. Finally, Darien solved the problem by nearly tripping over a dolly. He stowed the crate on the little handcart and started out with it. 

"Wait a minute," Hobbes called. He'd found a pile of yellowish powder that the two agents bagged as well. Just before they were about to leave, both spied the remains of a snake. A shed snake skin lay discarded in a dark corner, nearly out of sight behind a box. Hobbes poked at it with his trusty number two pencil. 

"Musta been one big mother…" Darien knelt down to examine it more closely. "Woulda scared ol'Kevin into a different country…" He shook his head to free himself of the memories, good or bad of his brother and held out his hand for an evidence bag. Hobbes had already disappeared out of the warehouse with his little sack of yellow powder, leaving Fawkes with the crate full of spiders and the last of the snake. 

There were days when Darien would have gladly given up the relative security of espionage work for his old stand by, second story jobs. One rarely encountered snakes or any other venomous animals while cracking a safe. 

+++++++++++++

"Claire! Thank you so much for coming on such short notice. I didn't know where else to turn, and since you work for the government, I thought, well, maybe you'd know someone who could…"

"Dr. Peregrine Byrd, this is Agent Alex Monroe," Claire skillfully cut off his onslaught of words with a formal introduction. "She's very good at what she does."

Alex smiled, quite touched by the sweet comment. She and Claire had been wary adversaries when they'd first met, but being the only women in the Agency outside of a few girls in the accounting department, they'd started getting to know one another better. It was paying off, she really thought they were beginning to bond in a let's-get-together-for-lunch kind of way. "Dr. Byrd, can you tell me exactly what was stolen and where it was the last time you saw it?"

"I was working late, well, I do most days and had just finished milking Jasmine…"

"Come again?" Alex shook her head. Did he just say what she thought he'd said?  
"You have a cow here, too?" She waved a hand at the usual lab equipment and handful of glass aquariums containing insects and reptiles.

"No, no, Jasmine is a Taipan. A very small one, to be sure, but quite lethal. She's my constant companion when I work late. We're very simpatico, and I feel quite cheered by her presence. Snakes can be such friendly creatures when you really get to know them well…"

"I'm sure," Alex agreed, glancing over at Claire in time to see the blond woman hiding a grin behind her hand. "You milked her…?"

"Venom," Claire supplied, still trying not to giggle. "Forcing the snake's jaws open and releasing the venom from the sacks behind the fangs. It can be used for a number of important things."

"Such as?" Alex queried, wondering if she shouldn't have gone with Hobbes and Fawkes after all.

"Anti-venom for one. And then of course there's my research." Peregrine beamed, his fair, wispy hair falling over his long narrow forehead so he looked like an enthusiastic schoolboy. "Many spiders have the ability to paralyze their victims and preserve them alive until a later time without harming their nerve cells. This could have many applications as an anesthesia for surgery…"

"I thought we were talking about snakes." Alex groaned, about ready to run screaming from the room. She'd thought herself above squeamishness, but between Dr. Byrd's run-away mouth and the subject, she was feeling a trifle nauseated.

"Spiders, snakes, I study them all. Well, all the really venomous ones. Last night, I placed Jasmine back into her terrarium and turned out the lights, leaving 10 vials of snake venom and 10 of spider venom to be ready for my experiments in the morning."

"And they were stolen!" Alex pounced on the one really relevant fact of the whole conversation. "And you don't want to go to the police?"

"No, my research is top secret. It has potential military applications and all that, you know."

"Yes, we do," Claire agreed, exchanging glances with Monroe. "Far better to keep it all in the family, so to speak. Where were the vials?"

"Right here." Peregrine pointed forlornly to the empty space in his otherwise crowded refrigerator. "They took everything. I left them there, labeled so anyone would know exactly what was inside and not tamper with deadly poisons, and locked the door behind me before I left."

"Did you see anyone suspicious?" Alex asked, looking around the lab.

"No one. The janitor was even on a different floor, because I waved goodbye to him when I went down the stairs. Always use the stairs, good for the heart muscle, you know."

"Yes." Alex plastered a smile on her face, "So, was all the venom from--uh--Jasmine?"

"No, no, Harry and David supplied some of their own." He waved a hand at two nasty looking snakes in another glass tank. "This type of venom is one of the most expensive compounds on the planet. A gram of purified venom costs over $1 million and it takes over a year to collect, distill, and purify before it can be dried to a powdered form. Of, course, I have insurance--but they'll never be able to replace the years of work I've put into just harvesting and cataloguing the many different protein structures in the venom." 

"$1 million?" Alex repeated in awe; she'd had no idea of the monetary value of something like that. "No wonder it was stolen. Is there a black market for that sort of thing?"

"Not to my knowledge," Claire mused. "But there are people who will deal in any commodity."

"So, you've been collecting this venom for…years?" Alex couldn't completely wrap her mind around the concept of such a narrow field of endeavor. She'd have gone stark raving mad doing such boring, repetitive work for so long. "Milking the snakes?"

"Yes, but then the spiders all contributed their share, as well; it wasn't all on poor Jasmine's small shoulders." He walked over to show off a huge, black spider with hairy legs spinning a long tube web in the corner of a glass-enclosed container. "That's an Australian Funnel Web, one of the deadliest spiders known to man. Not the deadliest in the world, of course; that would be the Brazilian Wandering spider. But the Funnel Web has incredibly sharp fangs that can pierce bone."

Now that she was officially sick to her stomach, Alex had to swallow forcefully to maintain any sort of professional decorum and look the part of an unruffled five-star-rated secret agent. "Really fascinating, Dr. Byrd. Is there anything else you can tell us about the break in?"

"My colleague, Dr. Mannheim, is an amateur sleuth and did a quick dusting for fingerprints. He fancies himself Sherlock Holmes, but he came up with only mine. I'd even asked the janitor not to clean my room the last few weeks because I didn't want him to accidentally knock over any stray vials of venom. So, since I often work alone, mine were the only ones he was able to identify. Many of my students wear latex. The thieves must have been wearing gloves."

"Do you have a security camera in here?"

"No, I dismantled it." He had the sense to look guilty there for a moment. "Couldn't stand to have anyone looking over my shoulder while I was working."

"No, wouldn't want that," Alex agreed caustically. "Well, I really would like to have a few of our own agents go over the room again, just in case Dr. Mannheim missed anything."

"I've got to get back to work. I've already been delayed all morning…and I have to procure more venom. It's all terribly time consuming. My research will be delayed by probably years if you can't recover the venom…"

Claire didn't have to look at Alex to know she was fuming, probably cursing meddling detective wanna-bes under her breath, so she stepped in. "I'm sure this all seems a waste of time when you want to move forward in your work, Peregrine, but please believe us when we say that this small amount of time lost will be time saved in finding the perpetrator of this crime."

"Yes, yes, of course. I suppose I could work in just a small corner of the lab, perhaps." Peregrine looked chagrined, then frantic to see Monroe touching an elaborate set up of Bunsen burners and connected glass tubing. "Don't touch that!"

"It looks like a still." Alex leveled him with her sternest glare. 

"I assure you it is not. I use it to condense and purify the venom," Peregrine answered haughtily. "When exactly will your agents be here?"

"I'll call them now, we can be out of your hair in a few hours." Alex whipped out her cell phone, placing the call for a crime scene crew to come down ASAP. "Coming, Claire?"

"Just a mo. By the way, Peregrine, I don't want to sound pushy, but I've known you for years and never met any of your family. I wondered if you had any siblings?" Claire asked, suddenly overcome with curiosity after the silly discussion about avian names Bobby and Darien had parried about.

"Why, yes, I do. A sister named Delphinium. She's a marine biologist. Why do you ask?"

 

"Just wondering. I thought I might have read something by another Dr. Byrd in a journal," Claire said sweetly, giving him a chaste peck on the cheek. "We'll find your venom for you, no worries."

"Delphinium?" Alex repeated as soon as they were completely out of the scientist's earshot. She giggled, then started laughing so hard tears were running down her cheeks. "Actually, Lark or Robin would be an improvement."

Joining in, Claire realized it had been ages since she'd shared a joke with a female friend and it felt good. She followed Alex out of the biology building with the realization that she was enjoying herself immensely. Getting to go out in the field with the talented female agent made her feel like part of a team, unlike going out with Bobby and Darien. She loved them both dearly, but they tended to close ranks when working, having a tendency towards constant running riffs of trivial minutiae unintelligible to anyone but themselves. Wanting to preserve the girlfriend bonding, she asked, "Alex, I've been thinking of trying to do a bit of toning up. Where do you work out?"

"I've found a really good place over on Palo Verde." Alex wiped her eyes, still erupting with the occasional giggle. "It's open 24 hours, and there are separate areas for men and women so you don't have oglers while you're doing squats."

"Sounds lovely, care if I tag along sometime?" Claire grinned.

"Well, now that the Official has me on a slave leash, my time isn't my own for the most part, so my workout schedule's not exactly firm. I never know when I'll have to be gone at a moment's notice." Alex smiled at the blond doctor, "But I'll give them a call and get you a guest pass so you can see how you like the place."

"Brilliant," Claire enthused.

 

+++++++++++++++++++++ 

 

The van, with Hobbes at the wheel, rounded the corner onto the street in front of the Harding building just moments after Monroe's flashy little black muscle car. Both parties met up at the front door together. 

"Well, girls, did you discover anything more than a misplaced beaker in the mad scientist's lab?" Bobby teased.

"Can it, Hobbes," Monroe chided. "As a matter of fact we did. Whoever stole Dr. Byrd's venom did a pretty professional job: no fingerprints and although the door was forced, they obviously knew exactly what they were looking for. They didn't touch anything else in the room and some of his equipment looked very expensive."

Fawkes had to admit, in his professional cat burgling opinion, it did sound like a pretty good job. He'd always prided himself on leaving a house he'd robbed in as tidy condition as possible. That way, it could sometimes take a day or two before the owners noticed they'd been robbed. Apparently Dr. Byrd was more observant than some people were.

"The stuff stolen was worth over $10 million," Alex added, leading the way down the hall.

"Whoa." Darien whistled in appreciation, "Not exactly small change." 

"What have you got there, Bobby?" Claire asked, sliding a key card for her lab door into the reader. The metal door slid open silently. Even after two years, Darien expected to hear that little whoosh sound effect from the Classic Star Trek reruns.

"Fawkes found a crate fulla' dead spiders." Hobbes handed the baggie over to her, "After that de sensitivity class yesterday, he still managed to drop the thing on the floor. I'm wondering how much good that class really was." He nodded at the spider, "Kinda got smooshed but we thought you might be able to identify it."

"That's the one we just saw, isn't it?" Alex asked, looking at the desiccated little corpse.

Claire carefully emptied the carcass out into a petri dish, using a pair of tweezers to separate the legs and turn it on its back. "Yes, unless I miss my guess, this is a Funnel Web spider. You found this amongst the smuggled goods?"

"Packed in like sardines," Fawkes answered. "What's a Funnel Web spider?" Like he really wanted to know.

"Only one of the deadliest arachnids on the planet." Claire frowned. "Why would anyone want to bring one of these…"

"Ten of these." Darien corrected, distinctly creeped out. He'd been lugging around a box of death. That was going to haunt his dreams for a few months to come.

"Illegally into the country?" She shuddered.

"I've got a really bad feeling about this." Hobbes said, quoting just about every character in any Star Wars movie.

"Just catch a glimpse of the Death Star, Han Solo?" Darien quipped, not liking the look on his face at all.

"This may sound screwy as hell, but what if whoever tried to bring these in realized that they'd made a mistake, cause the things obviously didn't travel well…" Bobby hypothesized.

"Coulda been packed a little better," Fawkes interjected.

"So they just abandoned them, since they'd found a better, LIVE source," Bobby finished.

"Dr. Byrd's lab rats…" Alex paused, then amended her comment. "Lab spiders."

"That's a brilliant deduction, Bobby, but the question is, why?" Claire was still staring fixedly at the spider.

"Just exactly what would that thing do to you if it bit you?" Hobbes asked, ignoring her other question for the moment.

"Well…" Claire pinched her lips together, looking over at Darien with concern.

"Hey, I took the spider class, I can handle it," Fawkes insisted.

"Um, they secrete a very potent neurotoxin," she began slowly, twisting a long lock of fair hair into a tight knot. 

Not really liking the unconscious distress signals she was giving off, Darien was suddenly reminded of a song his elder brother Kevin used to torment him with sometime in the '70s. It was back when there still were records and only a couple of bucks could buy one of those small 45 singles, the little records with the big holes in them. The song, by a guy named Jim Stafford, was called _"I Don't like Spiders and Snakes."_ Kevin had played it over and over whenever their mother was at work. It had so terrified young Darien that he'd had to hide under the covers at night. 

Kevin's favorite spooky tale about a spider that could dig its way through linoleum had also figured into Darien's night frights and he'd lain awake imagining it was making its creepy crawly way down the hall to his bedroom, having left some cavernous hole in the kitchen floor. When Katherine Fawkes finally found out about the stuff Kevin was telling her younger son, she'd broken the record and grounded him for a week. 

Didn't much matter by then; Darien had memorized the song. The song had worked both ways, in the end, because after a harrowing experience at junior scientist's camp Kevin had developed a fear of snakes. Darien had loved singing the song at the unlikeliest of moments, like when Kevin was in the shower.

Just now the bouncy little tune was flitting through his brain as Claire began to describe the Funnel Web's deadly poison. _"I don't like spiders and snakes and that ain't what it takes to love me like I wanna be loved by you…"_ repeated in an endless loop underscoring her words. Darien hunched his shoulders in protection mode which constrasted sharply to Hobbes erect, correct posture.

"They have half-inch fangs that can pierce bone and kill a small animal quite quickly," Claire said with a worried breath. "The toxin makes it way through the blood and lymphatic system, increasing the blood pressure and damaging the heart and lung tissue. The bite is usually immediately painful and symptoms occur within a few short minutes. Death would come after a few hours unless anti-venom was administered quickly…"

"Oh, man." Darien said faintly, not wanting to hear any more. Already he could hear the little scratching feet of that linoleum-tunneling spider.

"Between that and the snake venom, which was enough to kill a considerable amount of people in ways I'd rather not hear right now," Alex stated firmly, "I think a return visit to the Byrd doctor is in order."

++++++++++++++++++

The venomous research labs were just a few doors down from the room in which Fawkes had spent Saturday morning getting to know a barn spider. Small world.

The crime scene team had already cleared out, leaving just a tall, thin professor with flyaway blond hair who was hunched over a glass tank, talking softly to a slender, coiled snake. Darien had never had any trouble with snakes--that had been his brother's Achilles heel--so he poked his head down next to the good doctor's to get a look.

"Goodness!" Peregrine jumped up suddenly, the snake hissing and striking with force against the side of the tank. 

_Damn!_

That got Darien's attention fast and he backed away from the tank, letting Claire and Alex take over since they'd been the ones to question the scientist previously.

"I didn't hear you come in!" Peregrine exclaimed. "I was reassuring Jasmine. She really dislikes being milked, and I always have to give her a lot of TLC beforehand."

"Great. We had a few more questions for you," Alex plowed right in, "These are my associates, Agent Robert Hobbes and Darien Fawkes." 

She'd intentionally left the word 'agent' off in front of his name, Darien noticed, which rankled him more than he liked to admit. He'd just begun to think he was gaining more respect around the Agency after working his butt off training to be a better agent and then Alex dissed him in front of one of Claire's colleagues. The fact that Hobbes hadn't even bothered to correct her was painful.

"Peregrine, Darien found this while investigating a smuggling operation that has been bringing dangerous animals into this country." Claire held up the rebagged Funnel Web Spider, "Is this what I think it is?"

Expecting the milquetoast scientist to be intimidated by the four of them crowding into his space bearing deadly specimens, all four were pleasantly surprised to find he was fascinated by Hobbes' retelling of how the little corpse had been found. 

Peregrine used a magnifying glass to examine it closely. "Definitely a Funnel Web." He nodded enthusiastically. "But it's criminal what someone did to the poor thing."

"Why would someone bring them in, in such an inhumane way?" Hobbes asked, looking on studiously.

"I suspect that the perpetrator didn't realize that spiders need air, food, and water like every other creature on earth." Claire snorted, her temper up.

"Okay, but that begs a question." Fawkes put in his two cents worth. "We have to assume that these guys had specific reasons for wanting the snake and spider venom. Now, we're not just talkin' about some pusher on the street who's lookin' around for a new high. This took somebody with specific knowledge that your average Joe doesn't have. How come they didn't know how to pack the spiders?" 

Hobbes looked over at him with eyebrows raised, with a snort, "Good question, Fawkes. Shows you can use that head for more than just growin' hair."

Somehow Darien found Hobbes' compliment more annoying than pleasing. It was like he was forever testing him, making sure he did everything just so. Only, Darien wasn't sure of the test questions, and hadn't been given any lesson plan to study in advance. Which left him without a clue as to what it was he was supposed to know or why Hobbes was being such a prick.

"The biologists…"

"Zoologists," Peregrine corrected with a hesitant smile.

"The zoologists," Alex repeated, tapping her black spike heel in a staccato rhythm. "On this end presumably knew what they were doing, but they hired some stupid wranglers to find and ship the cargo over." She crossed her arms as if that explained everything. 

"We did find a snake skin," Fawkes volunteered. "So there must have been a snake inside it at one time. Something arrived alive."

"What sort of snake?" Peregrine asked with interest.

"Didn't look too closely," Hobbes said, "But the skin's in the van, I'll go get it for you." He hurried out as if glad to be going elsewhere. 

Darien had a sudden feeling of being stranded. 

"Your research, Peregrine," Claire began, eyeing Jasmine slithering around the terrarium. "Are there other people working on the same thing, or is what you are doing exclusive?"

Giving a snort of laughter, Fawkes conjured up an image of Dr. Byrd standing on the street corner wearing knickers and a little cap, rolled newspapers under his arm, yelling "Get it while it's hot. Exclusive! Snake research venom stolen!"

"Fawkes," Alex hissed at him, "Pay attention."

"Well, I'm coordinating with several scientists across the world, by Internet, of course," Peregrine began, "Each of us are working on different aspects of the question of how to distill the properties of certain venoms for anesthetic use. It's incredibly fascinating and could lead to a whole new approach to anesthesia with fewer side effects than the ones we use now. Why, there are people who are so disturbed by the chemicals in anesthesia that just being put to sleep is more dangerous for them than having the actual surgery."

"Yes, but who else knows about _your_ research." Alex snapped, clearly at the end of her tolerance for the loquacious Dr. Byrd. 

"I work alone, mostly, conferring by e-mail with some colleagues in Sydney, Kuala Lumpur and Amsterdam, but I'm by myself here most days." He spread his arms out to encompass the snake and spider cages.

"Do you have a lab assistant? Any grad students?" Claire specified.

"Of course, they come and go--right now there's Cynthia and Monprit--but they both went home for the weekend. I have to admit I like working on my own, used to it I suppose. Well, wait a mo…" He held up one finger, "I suppose you could count Dr. Rechenko."

"Who's Dr. Rechenko?" Fawkes asked, with interest. 

"He's also doing venom research, here at the University. At one time I thought we could collaborate and perhaps publish jointly, but alas he has diverged from my expertise and…frankly my comfort zone. Lately, he has been talking about selling his research for…" His pale blue eyes widened as if he'd been watching a horror movie, "profit."

"And that's a bad thing?" Alex asked.

"He's let his scientific ethics be subjugated by greed." Peregrine frowned in distaste, crossing his arms over his lab coat. "I can't abide the concept."

"So, essentially, although you dislike his methods, he's also working on the same project?" Alex continued to try and focus him on the subject at hand.

"Oh, no, his work centers on forcing the body's natural pain receptors to…" he grasped at words, unable to explain adequately. "If you'd pricked yourself with a pin, the receptors in the end of your finger would feel the pain, but only the few at the very end."  
He touched his forefinger to Claire's, who nodded in understanding. "What Dr. Rechenko has been trying to do would cause even such a small injury to fire many, many more pain receptors--in essence, the entire body would feel the pain and wouldn't be able to shut down afterwards…excruciating, unending pain until he gives the antidote."

All three agents shared the same horrified expression. "Is that possible?" Darien squeaked in an unnecessarily high voice.

"In theory, it is." Claire's voice was pretty unsteady, too, and her face had taken on the color of bleached stone. "Peregrine, he's using venom research for this, as well? And you used to confer on some of your earlier experiments?"

"Yes, at first I thought they might be compatible--a sort of yin and yang of pain research if you will, but Dr. Rechenko was never welcoming or solicitous." He shook his head so blond wisps of hair fell over his eyes. "I gave up asking."

The suddenly sinister mood was broken by Hobbes' arrival. "Here's the snake skin!" He took one look at the nonplussed trio and added, "what did I miss?"

"A doozy, Hobbes. I'll give you the "TV Guide" description later," Alex barked, "Dr. Byrd, this has obvious implications for torture…Does the good Doctor work for someone else besides the University?" 

Her words sent an icy cold path down Darien's spine that had nothing to do with Quicksilver. This Rechenko might work for any number of organizations he could name. Chrysalis, SWRB, there were way too many groups capable of real evil. 

"Oh, dear me-torture…?" Byrd wrung his hands in distress, taking a deep breath, "I can't recall…did I know…?"

"C'mere." Hobbes grabbed his partner by the arm, leaving Dr. Byrd and Claire examining the discarded snake skin on the table. Alex had an unreadable expression but was keeping her distance from the molt. Hobbes hauled Fawkes across the room for a quiet update. "What's the lowdown?"

Darien gave him a brief play by play, which left Hobbes with the same horrified expression and an angry glint in his eye. "I think we may have found our link to something nasty. See if you can slip into this Rechenko's lab and get some answers."

Going into a laboratory filled with spiders and poisons that could cause unending pain was dead last on Darien's list of things to do. "Hobbes," he tried to keep the annoying whine out of his voice, knowing complaining wouldn't sway the other man, "I don't know which lab is his."

"Figure it out, gland boy," he hissed, "Get out of here."

"S'cuse me." Fawkes pressed a hand to his belly, walking past Dr. Byrd and the women to the door. "Gotta get some fresh air."

"Of course, Darien," Claire said supportively. "He has a sensitive stomach."

Once outside the lab, he checked the hall for onlookers, but since it was Sunday, most of the students were either in their dorms studying or hanging out with the frat brothers doing keggers so there wasn't a soul in sight. Fawkes extended one arm, watching the quicksilver flow like freezing cold lava up his arm, extinguishing his hand and forearm from sight. 

Even after two years of using the gland, it was still amazing to watch his body disappear. He had just started to become comfortable and accept the ability, because without it he'd still be some second story man rotting away in prison. It had become part of Darien Fawkes, not that he wouldn't do just about anything to get the golf ball-sized gland out of his head. The thing had helped save lives--most notably Bobby and Claire's--and for that he was grateful. He knew he owed his life to the two of them. Their friendship had carried him through the first hard year when he'd either been depressed as hell with the state of his life or nearly insane from quicksilver madness.

Finding Dr. Rechenko's lab wasn't hard. There were little white plastic name plaques beside each door, with the names spelled out in green. Not that he could see green in the quicksilver spectrum, but he took note of the esthetics when he was visible again. In quicksilver vision, everything was silvery gray. 

Turning the doorknob with hesitation, Darien was surprised to find it yielded easily to his touch. He slipped inside to take a look around, not wanting to spend one minute longer inside the lab than necessary.

The layout of the room was pretty much the same as Dr. Byrd's, with similar equipment and lab animals. Fawkes turned his back to the cages of reptiles and arachnids, shuffling some papers on a cluttered desk to see if any names just jumped out at him. Just as the door started to open he saw an envelope with the words Rouche Pharmaceuticals printed in the return address corner. Good enough! 

With his heart hammering double-time in his chest, Fawkes scooted past the black haired man coming in. The man frowned as Darien paused to take a good look at his face, shivering. The quicksilver gave off a chilly aura like a freezer when left open. 

Taking one step back to reduce the amount of cold air, Fawkes memorized the scientist's perfectly coifed looks so he could identify him to Hobbes, and skedaddled. Rechenko looked out into the hall with a confused expression then shut the door with a bang, muttering something about the air conditioner.

Down the hall, Hobbes, Claire and Alex were just making their good-byes to Dr. Byrd, so Darien headed for the van.

 

+++++++++++++++++

"According to the University's registry, that is Dr. Sergi Rechenko." Eberts looked up from his computer screen, showing an enlarged ID photo of the man Darien had seen in the lab. "He's originally from Georgia."

"The state or the country?" Hobbes asked.

"He was a Russian national--must have emigrated here after the dissolution of the Soviet states." Eberts tapped a few more keys to bring up more information beside the photograph. "According to the University's files, Dr. Sergi Rechenko is an expert in zoology, specializing in herpetology." Rechenko had the dark complected, hawk nosed face of a classic movie villain.

"That haircut is so last year's GQ," Fawkes muttered, staring at the face on the screen.

"You should talk, Fawkes," Hobbes snarked.

"Did I say that out loud?" Fawkes asked blithely patting his own spiky coiffeur. "What about this Rouche Pharmaceuticals place? Does it say he's associated with them? Maybe he works there?"

"UCSD would frown on any of its professors going into the private sector, unless he was moonlighting." Eberts gave a little snort amazingly like Dr. Byrd had, obviously declaring anyone with those sorts of ethics below par.

Having been a thief for most of his life, Darien was not as particular. "Look up Rouche then, see if he's listed as an employee."

"I was getting to that, Darien," Eberts answered snippily. He worked his usual computer magic and in a matter of seconds had pulled up a glossy web site showing a studious looking scientist pouring some chemical from one beaker into another. The motto "The scientific technology of tomorrow here today", was written in bold type just under the masthead. "This is their home page, but it shouldn't be too hard to get into their private files and find listings of the employees. I already know Dr. Rechenko's social security number from the University's employee records."

A few clicks of the keyboard and there it was in black and white on the screen, Sergi Rechenko was in fact an employee of Rouche Pharmaceuticals.

Armed with the address, Hobbes and Fawkes headed out again in Golda. "Heard that Anna Nicole Smith is gettin' her own series, Hobbesy," Darien said, settling into his usual spot in the passenger seat. "Think she's gonna need a tele-prompter in her own living room?"

His eyes on the road ahead of them, Hobbes didn't answer, which surprised his partner greatly. There wasn't the usual give and take between the two, and even though Darien threw a few one-liners at him, Hobbes didn't even attempt to lob any of them back. It wasn't until they were on the freeway, nearing the correct exit that Hobbes started talking, and then it was just a long, rambling lecture on planning how to approach an enemy. It was such basic stuff Darien could have quoted in his sleep, he'd heard it so often.

"Hobbes, are you going off your meds?" Fawkes asked in irritation.

"Got 'em in my pocket, smart ass." Bobby turned right into a wide driveway, pulling up beside a little guard tower. There wasn't anyone on duty so he drove past into a parking space.

A gold sign mounted on man-made rock in the middle of a man-made lagoon read 'Rouche Pharmaceuticals West'. Little jets of water plumed upwards all around the centerpiece, cascading down in weird spirals never conceived of in nature. The massive parking lot ringed a tall, monolith of a building, covered entirely in mirrored windows, which created the illusion that there wasn't an actual structure there at all. The mirrored walls reflected the surrounding cars, fountain and sky so that the building blended in with its environment almost too perfectly, like it was trying to hide its true nature.

Just like Dr. Rechenko was hiding his sideline, Darien mused. He was beginning to agree with Hobbes: the whole affair had a bad feeling about it.

The two agents walked up to the front door, the mirrored walls showing multiple reflections of a tall, lanky guy with a spiked hairdo in a blue gas station jacket, orange shirt and tan slacks and a shorter balding man in a green polo shirt paired with khakis and a sports jacket. The taller man trudged stoop shouldered, weary of listening to his partner spout his version of the Agent's handbook.

"Fawkes, ya gotta knuckle under and plow straight through with an actual goal always foremost in your mind. All this whining and slacking off is a thing of the past, my friend." He glanced up at the younger man with an emphatic nod of his head. "Can't let any little personal fears trip you up. In the Marines we were trained to ignore bugs and flies crawling all over us. Makes you strong, proud…"

"A Marine," Fawkes finished. "Which, in case you haven't noticed, Hobbes, I'm not. I'm a thief."

"Ex-thief. You're on your way to becoming a top notch agent now."

"Then, what's this crap you've been dishin' out, huh, Hobbes? If you think I'm such a top notch agent, how come you keep harpin' on every single thing I do? If I'm any kind of agent, it's cuz of you. You dragged me into this Agency in Mexico, so stop giving me all the grief," Darien complained. 

Technically, the Official dragged him into it, because of the gland in his brain but Hobbes had been the one beside him on that first nearly disastrous mission south of the border. Now, after two years and some actual training in espionage, Fawkes was beginning to like the work. Not that he'd admit it to Bobby right then, considering Hobbes' current holier-than-thou attitude. "I'll show you top notch. Just watch me work the room."

"Hotshot," Hobbes muttered when they stepped into a modernistic lobby as big as half a football field. 

A little Asian guy who appeared to be wasting away from ennui was propped up on his elbow at the circular reception desk. An engraved nameplate proclaimed him to be Ving Ngo. The place was as silent as a mausoleum and every footfall echoed loudly as they crossed the shiny broad expanse of black and white marble floor.

"KinIhelpyou?" Ngo slurred the phrase into one indecipherable word.

"I need to speak to Dr. Rechenko," Fawkes said without preamble.

"He's no' here." 

Actually, he'd been betting on that. They'd come precisely when they had because Dr. Rechenko was still supposed to be at the University.

"Listen, bud, we're with the Department of Fish and Game, and we've had complaints about the way Rouche Pharmaceuticals treats their lab animals," Hobbes bluffed, muscling Fawkes aside and holding up his badge for the receptionist to see. 

Darien followed suit, flipping his open with practiced ease. He really had practiced in front of the mirror. It never hurt to look like a professional.

"I'll have to call Dr. Jeffries." Ngo picked up the phone with importance, pointing across the lobby. "Wait over there." He indicated some square-sided leather chairs that looked about as comfortable as wooden boxes to sit on.

"Fawkes, ya can't just bluff your way to an objective, you gotta finesse the situation a little," Hobbes complained, squirming on the hard chair.

"Who the heck says I'm bluffing?" Fawkes remained standing. As Hobbes had so elegantly pointed out the day before his tucchus was pretty skinny and neither of the two remaining chairs looked very comfortable. "The guy admitted Rechenko works here."

Dr Jeffries responded to the phone call with alacrity, practically running out of the elevator towards the two agents. "I'm Lionel Jeffries. This is the first I've heard about any complaints."

"It's our job to follow up any allegations of animal abuse and improper treatment." 

As usual when on assignment, Hobbes' voice held the ring of undeniable authority, Darien thought, remembering all the times in private when Bobby had been a lot less self-confident. 

"Usually these things turn out to be nothing, but we have to check, eh, Fawkes?"

"Can't be too careful," Fawkes agreed solemnly. "Can you show us the labs using animals? Our complaint specified…" Pretending to search his memory he proclaimed, "Small bugs, arachnids, snakes...?"

"Most of our research is top secret!" The small man protested, raking a hand through his Einsteinian white hair. 

"We're government employees," Hobbes reminded, showing the man his badge with the impressive looking federal shield. "This is our job, let us do it and we'll be out of your hair in no time."

"I really should talk to the vice-president," Jeffries waffled.

"This is still only a complaint," Hobbes said in a friendly tone. "No harm done if it was just some disgruntled tech complaining cause his favorite snake didn't get the fat mouse. No need to involve management, right?" All the time he was speaking he was walking Jeffries closer to the elevators.

"I-I suppose not." Dr. Jeffries nodded hesitantly.

 _Way to go, Little Tiger,_ Darien gave him encouraging vibes. _You're in rare form today._ He reached over and casually punched the 'UP' button.

"What floor, Doctor?" Fawkes asked.

"Ten. That's where the research using smaller animals and insects is done."

"Oh, you use larger animals?" Hobbes asked conversationally.

"Yes, of course, pigs for insulin and heparin. Sheep have respiratory tracts remarkably similar to humans, so we can intubate then to study how certain drugs affect the lungs and bronchioles…" he continued on all the way up, with Hobbes literally hanging on every word as if he understood even half of it.

Just as they made their way into the first lab, which was bustling with activity, Darien hesitated, looking around.

"Need something, partner?" Hobbes feigned innocence.

"The restroom?" It was always the easiest excuse, even though Hobbes made up all kinds of nasty explanations about his leaky plumbing, defective bladder and enlarged prostate.

"Oh, certainly, it's down that way, on the left." Jeffries pointed. 

Hobbes was already drawing him into the room, asking questions about which cages housed what animals and what experiments were being done. 

Fawkes eased his way down the hall, glancing around. Seeing nobody, he let the quicksilver flow and started snooping. There were three other labs on this floor besides the one where Hobbes and Jeffries were. There were also four offices, one alongside each lab, with a break room on one end of the hall and the aforementioned bathroom on the other end. None of the offices were conveniently labeled with names, so he had to poke his head into each. Luckily, none were locked or occupied. So much for security around Rouche laboratories. Nothing looked interesting, and Fawkes knew that the venom had to be kept in a refrigerator, which none of the offices sported. 

He watched Hobbes and Jeffries cross the hall to a second lab, chatting about some experiment involving larvae, which made him glad he hadn't heard the whole conversation. After they'd passed, Darien trekked further down the hall to the two labs not in use, sliding into the first one and glancing around. It looked like it hadn't been used in some time. There was very little equipment out, no clutter of beakers or test tubes the way Claire's lab always looked. That was the first clue. Hiding something in plain sight where nobody would look, but not so obvious that everybody would know where it was. What better place than the lab no one was working in?

There were three racks containing vials of clear liquid in the refrigerator. All had sticky labels with hand written numbers down the side. Fawkes decided against taking one of the vials, as the theft would plainly be noticed, but he carefully picked up one of the glass tubes to examine it more closely. The label was pasted on poorly and underneath he could see there was another label. With only a little bit of prying he was able to pull up one corner enough to read UCSD. 

All right. Fawkes gave himself a mental low-five. There was the proof. Well, some of it anyway. It didn't actually link Dr. Rechenko with the stolen venom, but it put them in the same building and that was enough for now.

Fawkes shook off the quicksilver just inside the door of the adjoining bathroom, emerging at the same time as Hobbes and Dr. Jeffries did from lab number two. Hobbes was already assuring him that everything was copacetic as far as he was concerned, and he'd eliminate the complaint from the Fish and Game Department's records.

Just glad he hadn't had to make another tour of spider cages, Darien ambled after his partner back towards the elevators. He'd had enough of those creepy crawlies for one weekend, thank you very much.

 

+++++++++++++

ACT TWO

 

His fingers flying over the computer keys, Peregrine entered the small amount of data he'd been able to glean with the remaining spider venom. Not that this wasn't important stuff in its own right, but he had been looking forward to working with Jasmine's venom. He yearned to discover some new substance that would eliminate the pain surgery patients had to suffer. His own sister, Delphinium, had undergone several painful operations on her heart, and he hated seeing her in such agony afterwards. Why did something meant to help the patient have to be even more painful than the original defect?

Out in the hall, he could hear voices discussing the morning's robbery. After a moment, Sergi Rechenko stuck his head in the door, his handsome face alarmed. 

"You were robbed, Perry?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, this morning--men broke in here and stole vials of Jasmine's venom." Peregrine got up to point out the scene of the crime.

"All your years of work?" Rechenko shook his head, "I'm so sorry." After ten years in the United States, his English was only slightly accented.

"I knew you'd understand the loss if no one else did. Where have you been all day?"

"In my lab, working diligently--you know I have been preparing to quit at the end of the semester."

"I feel so guilty about that. I keep thinking if I could have some how integrated our two fields of study you wouldn't be moving out." Peregrine flipped the errant lock of hair that always drooped over his eyes out of the way. "Won't this violate some of your work? Using it for financial gain."

Sergi smiled sadly, "Perry, you have been too long inside ivy-covered walls. You're naive. The big pharmaceutical companies will pay well for my research. I can have a new car, a new house. Can you afford any of that on a professor's pay?"

"No… I may be naive but I still have my pride," Peregrine answered huffily, his feelings hurt. "I think you're selling out."

"No one here was interested in the value of my work," Sergi retorted with more heat. "Think of what one could do with an understanding of how to control pain…it could change everything."

"You know information like that would only be used for truly evil purposes!" Peregrine felt something twist inside. He wasn't sure why, but he was suddenly afraid, of what he wasn't sure. He and Rechenko had never seen eye to eye on much of anything, but he was getting the distinct impression there was something more sinister going on here. "Sergi, what good could be gained from being able to create a source of inflicting unlimited pain?"

"Not much, unless there's a way to turn the pain receptors on and off like a light switch." Rechenko's smile was a little too wicked to be pleasant. "There are many countries who would welcome a drug that could do that. You know some of the toxins in that snake venom you lost could have been invaluable for my experiments."

Now Peregrine felt a chill in the perfectly climate controlled lab. "Tell me you don't know where that venom is?"

"How would I know such a thing?" Rechenko scoffed. "You said yourself it was stolen. My lab is right across the hall. If I had wanted some, I could have just borrowed it like a cup of sugar between friends."

"I get the feeling you haven't been my friend in a long time," Peregrine said coldly. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a tremendous amount to do to recreate years of work and I have to start all over again in creating my stockpile of distilled venom. Please excuse me."

"Do whatever you like, Dr. Byrd." Rechenko lingered at the door, "The police won’t be investigating something like this with any interest. There aren’t any dead bodies."

"I haven't spoken to the police." Peregrine turned his back, surprised to see his hands shaking. He felt more frightened now than he had when he'd discovered the break in. Dread was clouding his mind that Rechenko was somehow involved.

"No? But there were people here earlier, Dr. Mannheim told me they were investigating. That he'd been able to help, as well."

"I have a friend who works for the Department of Fish and Game." Peregrine fiddled with his computer, hitting the button to save what he'd just written so he could put it on a disc. "They came over here--twice."

"What did you tell them?" Rechenko sounded interested. 

"Nothing, only that I'd found the vials missing. Snake venom and spider, too." 

"So, they are looking into the crime?"

"Claire assured me it was only a matter of time before it was found," Peregrine admitted, locating a zip disc in the jumble on his desk. "She has the top agents working on it."

"Then you'll have no trouble recovering the venom," Sergi soothed, his mouth tight. "I must get back to my work as well. I've got a great deal to do before the end of the semester."

Dr. Rechenko hurried to his car, instinct telling him he needed to get to Rouche as soon as possible. His mind was racing after the conversation with Perry.

Who could have stolen the valuable venom? He'd told his new employers only the week before that the snake they'd imported was sickly and would need medical care before it could be milked for its natural poisons. Was it possible that they could have so blatantly stolen Byrd's work? The implications were staggering and not only from a purely legal point of view. He'd longed to get his hands on Jasmine for the last few months. The snake was a veritable font of poisonous compounds that never seemed to run dry. What he could do with that stuff! It would cut his prep time in half to have it all ready for use.

Walking faster, Sergi smiled with grim purpose, he had every reason to believe that there was going to be a little gift waiting for him in his new lab. That it might actually be the work of a colleague's career really didn't concern him overmuch. After all, the man had no ambition, no drive to get anywhere in life. Success depended on clawing your way to the top and then driving away the competition while you made yourself indispensable. Then, when the world was beating its way to your doorstep, you charged admission. Life in a collapsing political and economic regime had taught him that. It was always those with the courage to do whatever it took who ended up rich. 

Peregrine Byrd was destined to spend all his life hunched over a table, milking snakes. He'd done it for years and could go on doing it, for all Sergi cared, as long as Rechenko's own research came to fulfillment. And with this latest boost to that work, there was every possibility that he could unlock the secrets of pain and hold the most primitive of all sensations in the palm of his hand. He'd gotten so close to finding the chemical codes that triggered pain receptors. He already knew how to turn them on and keep them firing long after the body should have acclimated to the pain. Now, he had to find a way to manipulate that ability. To think he could make one little compound that could cause that much agony. It was almost sexually stimulating.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Sliding the disk he'd forgotten he was holding into the zip drive, Peregrine backed up his work. After sitting in front of the screen, which had a photo montage of Jasmine as a screen saver, he brought up the file containing all the accumulated research he'd been working on for the last few years and made a decision. 

Peregrine needed a friend to confide in, someone to alert to his fears. Someone who could perhaps assure him that he was over-reacting--or agree that he wasn't. He was suddenly convinced that the thieves wouldn't just stop at stealing his venom, they might conceivably come back for Jasmine, Harry, and David. And the computer files. He felt foolishly like some paranoid character in a spy thriller, but his gut told him he was doing the right thing.

There was something terrifying in the air. He almost wanted to flick his tongue out to identify the vile substance like Jasmine would do. Rechenko's attitude had been frightening: Sergi must know something or else why had he stayed so long, pestering Peregrine with questions? It was the longest conversation they'd ever had. Even in the early days when they'd occasionally worked side by side to test rodents' reactions to snake venom, they'd rarely chatted much.

After ejecting the zip disk from the computer, he burned a CD, placing all the research he'd ever done over the years for the University on one small circle of plastic. Then, with an almost agonized sob, he hit the delete key, erasing any trace of five years of research from the terminal. 

Logging onto the Internet, Peregrine opened his e-mail and sent a carefully worded message to the only other person on the planet he thought would know what he was talking about and be able to do anything to help him.

++++++++++++

"Hobbes, man, what gives?" Fawkes asked, trailing his partner down the halls of the Agency. "What the heck is eating you? Give me a clue."

"I've told you before, Fawkes, your attitude stinks." Hobbes' face was surprisingly harsh, not at all the guy Darien had been trading wisecracks with for over two years. This stranger was a by-the-book Marine, critical and distant. "If you want to get ahead in life, you gotta walk the straight and narrow, get with the program and stop actin' like this is all some sort of game."

"You never liked 'Spy versus Spy', Bobby?" Darien taunted, his hackles rising. There was no earthly reason for the way Hobbes was treating him. He'd taken the damned desensitization class, and was still following Hobbes around like some half assed errand boy when he could be doing most of this stuff on his own. "It was always my favorite page in 'Mad' magazine. And, well, maybe I'm not your definition of James Bond, but I can get this job done without you harpin' on me all the time. I'm not the new kid on the block, any more, okay? Give me some credit, here. I know what I'm doing, even if that doesn't sit well with you, **my friend** ," Darien threw Hobbes' own catch phrase back in his face, "So screw you, Hobbes."

"What are you two arguing about?" The Official swung open his door hard enough to rattle the glass in the frame. "Get in here and stop acting like siblings fighting over the TV."

"Just having a friendly disagreement about the case," Hobbes covered smoothly, taking his favorite chair in the middle of the room. Sitting there always made Fawkes feel like a prisoner in a war movie being questioned by the Gestapo. "Inviso-boy did his trick and found the stolen venom at a place called Rouche Pharmaceuticals."

 _His trick?_ That was low. Fawkes glanced over at Bobby, not sure whether to glare or feel hurt, but he was completely ignored.  
s  
"Eberts, what do we know about Rouche Pharmaceuticals?" the Fat Man asked.

As always, the Official's brown-noser had done his homework and printed it out with a lovely bound cover. "I did some investigating when Agent Hobbes informed me that they had tracked the venom to the San Diego branch. Rouche Pharmaceuticals West is just a small part of a nation-wide conglomerate that develops and manufactures drugs. In fact, one of the antidepressants that Robert uses is…"

"Shut up, Eee-berts," Hobbes snapped.

"They are a multi-million dollar corporation, but there have been rumors that their methods are not always on the up and up."

"They tryin' to bilk the country into buyin' snake oil?" Darien grinned.

"Nothing quite so obvious, Darien. Rouche has been implicated in a few…less than ethical experiments involving gene manipulation and human fetuses." Eberts paused, an expression of disgust on his vaguely cherubic face. "From what you told me about Dr. Rechenko, I wouldn't be surprised that he would hook up with Rouche. His research sounds like exactly the kind of thing they'd sanction."

"Crap," Hobbes muttered, which just about summed things up for everyone in the room. "Didn't the US government ban usin' fetuses and stem cell research and stuff like that?"

"There are instances where the usage of fetal cells has become an important adjunct to many medical treatments," the Official said unctuously, "but that's not our concern. We need to know if Rouche is behind the smuggling and what exactly they plan to do with the venom they have in their possession."

"If Rechenko is working on his latest poison project, I don't wanna be within 10 miles of him," Darien proclaimed, "That unending pain thing…."

"Buck up, Fawkes. You're on this case, finish it." Charlie Borden glared at him. Darien pouted, now he was getting it from all sides!

"We're on Rechenko's trail now, sir," Hobbes assured. "You can count on that."

+++++++++++++++++++

"I found the venom in the refrigerator," Sergi Rechenko stated flatly, eyeing his superior. He stood squarely in front of the man's desk, resisting the urge to stand at parade rest as he'd been taught while in the Georgian Army. "Where exactly did it come from?"

"We were able to obtain ample quantities for your experiments, Doctor, that's all you need to know, isn't it?" Lionel Jeffries showed a completely different side than the addled scientist persona he'd shown to the pair of spurious Fish and Game agents who had wasted much of his afternoon. "And you'd better get to work as soon as possible; there've already been federal agents nosing around here."

"How did they connect me with Rouche?" 

"I have no idea how. Your name was never mentioned to me. All they said was that there'd been complaints about the way lab animals were treated here, which was an obvious cover story to inspect our facilities. I showed them the medical trials labs and they went away happy."

"Were they from the Department of Fish and Game?" Sergi asked, anger rising in his gullet.

"As a matter of fact, yes." Jeffries nodded, "What do you know about them?"

"There were vials of snake and spider venom, purified and ready for use, stolen from the University. My colleague, Dr. Byrd, called them in to investigate the crime."

"That puts a different spin on the matter." Jeffries frowned. "You'll just have to work all that much faster to get the product ready for trials then, won't you?"

"Where did you get the venom in my lab?" Rechenko persisted.

"None of your concern, Doctor. Just do as you promised and there'll be a bonus--a substantial one if you can come up with a pain-trigger drug by the end of this fiscal year."

"That's impossible!" Rechenko protested, slamming a hand down on the director's desk. "I have many months of research before there'll even be a prototype. Then I need test subjects--human ones are preferable. The nervous systems of most animals just don't equate."

"I realize that. The California penal system is full of death row inmates who are perfect for our needs. Just get to work. Have you completely resigned from UCSD yet?"

"I have the papers filled out, and I was planning on giving notice tomorrow-Monday."

"Excellent. Then I'll expect you to be starting expeditiously." Jeffries picked up the papers he'd been working on before Rechenko interrupted him, the gesture an obvious dismissal.

Turning to leave, Rechenko was consumed with conflicting emotions. He was excited to be finally given free reign to pursue his current research, but on the other hand, he chaffed at Jeffries--and Rouche's--expectations. How could they expect a drug by the end of the fiscal year? From what Jeffries had not told him, he knew for sure that they had stolen the venom from Byrd. Not that he'd admit that to the little geek. It was just unnerving to know that Rouche considered his project so crucial that they'd steal for him. 

It gave him a slightly heady feeling of power. Yes, this was where he was meant to be. Even if he couldn't finish under the deadline, he had no doubt they'd be more than pleased with the results when he _did_ perfect a completely controllable pain-trigger drug.

+++++++++++++++

Claire sauntered confidently down the hall of the Harding Building, swiping her key card into the electronic reader to open the door of her lab. She was brimming with energy this morning after a workout at Alex's gym. Unfortunately, although the two women had planned to go together, Alex had been called on to investigate another angle on the venom smuggling case. She'd boarded a plane to Australia only that morning to find out who exactly had sent the unfortunate creatures that had arrived dead. 

What with all the excitement about Peregrine's break-in on Sunday, Claire had never gotten around to analyzing everything that Hobbes and Darien had brought back with them from the docks. It was a refreshing change to be directly active in a case. Now that Darien no longer needed frequent injections of counteragent, she had hours of extra time on her hands. There had been days recently that she'd found herself at loose ends to a certain extent as she waited for some of her experiments to run their course. 

Without the constant chore of making up more counteragent or waiting with baited breath, knowing Darien was coming back from an assignment red eyed and psychotic, there were actually periods when she had a moment or two to herself. She reminded herself to leave early so that she could catch the little French film playing at the art theater not far from her home. She couldn't remember the last time she'd been to a film and found herself looking forward to reclaiming a small measure of her personal life.

Still, while at work, she wanted to be considered as much an investigative agent as the rest of the Agency's personnel, but everyone still tended to consign her to the lab. It was good to be an integral part of things for a change. Though Darien still required periodic blood tests and she was still going to insist on the monthly physicals, there was simply no reason to deny herself the intellectual challenges that came with criminal investigations any more than there was for her to abandon her scientific endeavors. 

After all, no one knew what the long-term effects of the gland would be on his body, even without the threat of Quicksilver Madness. He'd carried the gland in his brain far longer than Simon Cole or even Arnaud. He was unique, and Claire wanted to insure that he stayed healthy and productive for the rest of his natural life. If that meant they were stuck with each other, so be it. She had become close to everyone at the Agency and considered Darien a good friend. Although she was still concerned about the slight difficulties he'd had with his vision on and off, by and large, his health was satisfyingly robust. His eyesight hadn't bothered him lately, for which she was glad, though it still bore watching. 

Before figuratively rolling up her sleeves and getting to the hard work of the day, she switched on her back-up computer, connecting to the Internet to access her e-mail. She'd been hoping for a missive from one of her far-flung relatives. Although they weren't the closest of families, the ease of e-mail had jump-started their communication and she'd enjoyed reconnecting with family. The friendly little mail-truck blinking on the screen assured her she did indeed have mail and she hit receive with a smile. 

There was a couple of on-line jokes from an old college acquaintance which she'd read the week before from another friend and an invitation for her to become a member of the gym she'd visited this morning, with the come on of two months for the price of one. Shouldn't have given them my e-mail address, she thought, hitting the delete key. The last virtual envelope to pop up on the screen was from Peregrine, but there was no subject line. Intrigued, she opened up the body of the message, reading with a perplexed frown. What he'd written made little sense.

**"Be advised that Jasmine is the keeper of my heart. If anything should happen to me, Claire, take care of her. Since the robbery, nothing is safe anymore, and I fear I can no longer continue with what needs to be done. Peregrine"**

Her heart pounding wildly against her breastbone, Claire lunged for her phone. Had the break in so unnerved him he was thinking of suicide? Where would he be? At his home or the University?

Jasmine is the keeper of my heart.

The University.

Her hand trembled as she dialed, wondering if she should just drive down. What could he have done? What had driven him to this?

"Zoology Department, UCSD," a very young voice answered. 

"Is Dr. Byrd in please?" Claire asked politely.

"Oh, my God." The girl's voice broke, a half sob gulped back loudly into the receiver.

"What's happened?" Claire demanded, her heart about to break free of her chest. It already hurt, and she hadn't even heard the news yet.

"D-dr. Byrd was killed this morning." The girl shuddered another sob, clearly barely able to speak.

"How? When?"

"He had parked in the employee lot and a c-car ran him down. Hit and run!" she wailed, her sobs harsh and gut wrenching.

" I'm devastated. Are you…" Claire racked her brain trying to remember what Peregrine had said his grad student's name was. "Cynthia?"

"Y-yes, how did you know?" Cynthia gulped, getting herself under control. 

"I spoke with Peregrine this weekend about the robbery in his lab. Did you hear about that?"

"Of course, it's all over campus." Her voice still quavered now and then, but the tears had stopped. "It's a big mystery."

"I work for the Department of Fish and Game. We are actively investigating the crime and may have found some leads, but this…it's horrible. I can't conceive of anyone killing poor Peregrine. Did anyone see it? Get the license plate number?"

"I th-think so." Cynthia paused, "But it happened really early, there weren't many people on campus. Monprit had gone into the lab to open up. W-we expected to start on the next phase of experiments on the snake venom this morning. He heard the car's acceleration because the window was open, but I don't think he saw anything."

"Cynthia, as soon as I get in contact with my colleagues, we'll be right down. Don't leave, we'll want to talk to you and Monprit."

"He's pretty broken up." She sighed. "He was here on a scholarship visa from India and is afraid he'll have to leave now."

"I'll make sure that doesn't happen," Claire assured, not at all certain how she'd go about doing that, but determined to try. "Just stay right there, I'm on my way."

As if in answer to her prayers, Bobby and Darien were standing and arguing idly in the hall outside the Official's office when Claire ran out of the elevator. Her words tumbling over themselves in a rush, she tried to explain what had happened while pulling Hobbes by the sleeve to drag him out the door to the parking lot.

"Claire! Slow down." Hobbes dug in his heels, resisting the forward momentum. 

Fawkes just about plowed into the both of them, only managing to slow his trajectory by grabbing hold of the Official's doorknob. Luckily the door was locked and no one was inside room 202 yet. 

"Let me get this straight. Dr. Byrd is dead?" Bobby put up a hand like a traffic cop holding up a line of cars.

Feeling suddenly close to tears, Claire couldn’t speak, but nodded pathetically.

"Who'd want to kill a harmless geek like him?" Fawkes asked, shoving one foot firmly into his mouth. Claire stared at him, her eyes swimming with tears. "No offense, Claire, but despite his snake poison, he wasn't exactly threatening the competition."

"You hit the nail on the head, partner," Bobby said, staring at him, too. "Maybe indirectly, but square on all the same."

"You mean Rouche? He wasn't working on that pain drug thing," Darien responded.

"No, but Dr. Rechenko was, and maybe he was afraid ol'Peregrine would figure out who stole the venom," Hobbes surmised. "C'mon, let's get over to the University."

"Can you positively link Rouche to the crime?" Claire sniffed daintily until Hobbes handed her his handkerchief. 

Darien had seen him carry one before, and wondered if Hobbes just bought it in case Claire ever needed a hanky. Hobbes had it bad for her, but she always played it so cool and British it was difficult for Darien to know if the feelings were reciprocal. With all Hobbes' claims he didn't pick from the company's orchard, they'd probably never get together, anyway. 

"Those vials in the Rouche lab had University stickers covered over by new hand-numbered ones," Fawkes reported. 

"But why would they steal them?" Claire asked, playing devil's advocate. She gave a final swipe of the handkerchief across her eyes and folded it into a square handing it back to Hobbes. He looked slightly surprised, but stuffed it into his jacket pocket. "They're a huge company, can't they import them? They smuggled the first lot, didn’t they?"

"We talked to the Official last night." Hobbes nodded. Now he was the one urging them along. 

Claire and Fawkes followed after him like a couple of ducklings after their papa to the van and piled in. Darien gave Claire his usual spot in the passenger seat and squeezed into the back of the van with the debris. There was always unidentifiable stuff back there no matter how often Hobbes cleaned up. 

"We think that Rouche musta used some stupid ass suppliers back in Australia and got royally screwed." Hobbes steered Golda into morning traffic. As usual, San Diego was a swamp of cars, and it would take a while to get across town to the campus. "So when the stuff showed up here all dried up and worthless, they had to scramble in a hurry. Probably already have people waitin' for that crap Rechenko wants to make up."

"A torture drug, that's all it could be." Claire nodded. "There are guerrillas and terrorists who would love to have something like that fall into their hands. We have to stop them." She gasped. "But Alex went to Australia this morning: she called me. D'you think she'll be safe?"

"Monroe can take care of herself, she's tough," Hobbes said with surprising emotion. The two of them never got along very well, both constantly trying to one up the other and prove who was best, but Hobbes had to admit she was a competent, well trained agent. 

While Darien had nothing against the beautiful operative, the number one agent in his book was still Bobby Hobbes. That was why the current state of affairs between them was so unnerving. Hobbes might be a little on the flaky side but there was no one Fawkes would rather have watching his back. The problem was, lately Hobbes had been acting as if he didn't want to do it anymore, and that scared the hell out of Darien.

"What did you find in the dockside warehouse besides spiders and snake molts?" Claire asked, flipping her long hair out of her face. She probed around in her pocket to locate an elastic and secured it back, out of the wind coming through the open van window. "I haven't yet had a chance to analyze the other things you brought me."

"We didn't quite know what all of it was." Darien shrugged, "In fact," he reached down to pick up a small baggie of yellow powder off the floor of the vehicle that had escaped notice when they'd unloaded everything, "here's something else we found. Sorry we didn't get it to you with the rest of the stuff."

"Looks like Kool-Aid to me," Hobbes commented. "Found it sprinkled around one of the boxes but there was nothing in the crate."

"So they obviously had someone go and collect what was of use and left the rest behind. Isn't that a bit careless?" Claire squinted at the baggie, trying to decipher to its contents. 

"Only if they got caught." Hobbes pulled onto the freeway and Golda sped up, rattling like an old jalopy in a Chaplin movie. By the time they hit 65, Hobbes felt like the fillings were shaking loose in his teeth. "If nobody can trace the goods back to Rouche, and so far nobody can, it's just a pile of crap takin' up space. We end up with egg on our faces cause other countries wanna know how we keep lettin' this stuff slip through our borders, and there're animal rights groups all up in arms cause a buncha poisonous spiders and rare…I dunno…toads died on U.S. soil. Rouche doesn't look bad, just the Government. Namely, the Department of Fish and Game." 

"What made you say toads, Bobby?" Claire jerked her head up in surprise.

"There are poisonous toads, aren't there? They can give you warts, that I know." He punctuated the end of the sentence with a stiff fingered jab at the windshield. The guy trying to cut in front of him misinterpreted the gesture and flipped the bird before squeezing his Lexus in front of Golda. "Moron," Hobbes muttered.

"There are poisonous frogs, as well," Claire corrected gently. "The warts thing is a myth. The thing is, all these things can be deadly. What would Rouche want with such a collection of poisonous animals, unless it was for the reasons Peregrine feared? No one else in their right mind would want to have anything to do with creatures like that."

"The SWRB would," Darien said quietly.

"What he said," Hobbes agreed, looking sick. 

The San Diego division of the Special Weapons Research Branch had been destroyed when Augustin Gaither had blown it to smithereens. The head of the twisted sisters society, known only as Mr. No-Name was supposed to be dead, but without a name or prints, it had been impossible to correctly identify him. No one knew who might have escaped the inferno that night. Had the SWRB anything to do with this? It was terrifying to contemplate. Maybe Rouche was just pure nastiness on its own. Hitler's minions hadn't cornered the market on inhumanity and cruelty, and the same could be said for the SWRB. Maybe the Agency had just uncovered another player in the game of torture for sale. 

They retraced their steps down what were becoming very familiar halls to Dr. Byrd's office. A Japanese girl who was probably only about five feet tall, and a dark skinned guy of perhaps East Indian origin were sitting at the lab table, talking quietly when Claire knocked on the frame of the open door.

"Oh, please come in." The girl had red-rimmed eyes and her long black hair was pinned into a bird's nest on top of her head with a yellow number two pencil.

"You must be Cynthia." Claire gave her a gentle hug. "And Monprit?" she addressed the guy.

Bobby and Darien shook hands politely with both of them, murmuring the usual platitudes expressed when someone dies. Darien had never been able to get through these sorts of scenes without flashing to the days after his mother's death. At the time, he'd felt like curling up and dying, too. Too angry and embittered to be comforted he'd wanted to punch somebody every time a well-meaning neighbor had said, "she's gone to heaven, Darien." 

Punching whoever had perpetrated the crime didn't seem like such a bad idea standing in that room with the teary grad students. Peregrine Byrd had been a trifle eccentric, but he hadn't deserved to be run down by a car. 

"Nice to meet you, Dr. Keeply," Monprit said dejectedly. "Cyn told me you'll try to keep my student visa from being revoked, but I don't know how. Without my faculty advisor, Dr. Byrd, my thesis is on hold and I don't know what the future holds."

"You two are the ones who worked with Peregrine," Claire said with conviction, "You'll be able to keep his research alive. You can continue it."

 

"But how?" Cynthia looked like she'd start crying again. "Neither of us even has a masters degree, much less a Ph.D., how can we keep the research going?"

"I have a Ph.D.," Claire announced, "actually, more than one. And I vow to keep Peregrine's work alive. Darien and Bobby already have a lead on where the stolen venom might be."

"Really?" Monprit perked up at this, running a hand through his unruly black hair.

Hobbes was afraid she might reveal the location, sending crazed grad students running through the labs at Rouche, but the arrival of another professor startled them when he stuck his head in the door. Darien recognized the well-defined profile in an instant. It was Dr. Rechenko.

"Excuse me, but I was passing by and I thought I heard you mention knowing where Perry's stolen venom was?" He swiveled his head, taking in the entire group, his body language belligerent and aggressive but his face showing a friendlier, interested party. Like two sides of a coin.

"And you are?" Hobbes flipped out his departmental badge, standing cockily in front of the taller man.

"Dr. Sergi Rechenko." The taller man glanced at the name on the badge. "Agent Robert Hobbes of the Department of Fish and Game. Are you investigating the robbery?"

"Burglary," Darien corrected.

"I am not interested in playing word games, Agent…?"

"Fawkes." He held up his badge, using his height to an advantage. Rechenko was a scant inch shorter. "Neither am I. Robbery usually means there was someone with a gun, holding you up. This lab was burgled. Unless you know something we don't?"

"Only what Perry told me." Rechenko bristled, directing his comments back at Hobbes. "I talked to him yesterday shortly before I left the campus, now I return to find he was killed. It is a travesty. Have you found the guilty parties?"

"We only just got here ourselves," Hobbes said loftily. "Still sifting through clues. For instance, where were you this morning at…?" He glanced over at Monprit for confirmation of the time.

"Six thirty," Monprit supplied, looking frightened.

"I was at my gym, a fact that can be substantiated by the personnel there," Rechenko answered with an outraged expression. It was like he'd put on a mask, all surface. 

Seeing Rechenko face to face and in living color for the first time, Darien could easily believe him capable of being some sort of scientific con artist. He had the smarmy insincerity of an old-fashioned snake oil salesman. 

"Surely you can't suspect one of his colleagues! That's outrageous."

 

"That's where I've seen you." Claire smiled sweetly, 'good cop' to Hobbes' bad one. "You were at the gym on Palo Verde this morning. I was coming in when you left." She stuck out a firm hand, "Dr. Claire Keeply. I was a correspondent of Dr. Byrd's."

"He spoke of you yesterday." Sergi took her hand in both of his, holding it like a Claire sandwich. "What is your particular field of study? Are you a venemologist like the rest of us nerds around here?"

"Biochemistry is one of my passions." Claire slipped her hand free. "But I have an eclectic body of work. A little of everything, the Department of Fish and Game keeps me quite busy with any number of assignments." 

"I'm sure." He gave a little gracious bow. 

Fawkes faded into the background, watching without anything to contribute to the conversation. His knowledge of biochemistry was pretty limited to what he'd gleaned on how the gland affected his own biochemistry from Kevin, Arnaud and Claire. As for spiders and snakes, the less he knew about their venom, the better.

Claire perched on the edge of a tall stool. “When Peregrine spoke of you, he said you'd worked together at one time but had parted company when your research interests changed," she said, watching Cynthia feeding the caged critters as if no one else was in the room. "Aren't you both involved in the mechanics of pain?"

"I see he filled your head with his erroneous assumptions on the nature of my studies," Rechenko said dismissively. "He'd conjured up all sorts of bizarre ideas."

"Bizarre in what way?" Bobby pushed, his eyebrows raised.

"I theorized that pain could be switched on and off, like a light can be, but we need to find the precise trigger to do so."

"A pain trigger?" Darien spoke up from where he was lounging against the sinks. It was the farthest place in the room from the bank of snakes and spiders. "Isn't that kind of dangerous? What good would it be?"

"Perry envisioned all sorts of cruel uses for my research which I assure you were his own creations and not mine." Rechenko shook his head a little sadly. "That was one of the reasons I discontinued our work together. I began to worry that he was perhaps delusional--even hallucinating."

"He wasn't crazy!" Cynthia spat, her almond eyes filling with fresh tears. She clutched a container of bugs, squishing the sides of the cardboard until crickets began to crawl out onto her hands. 

Monprit momentarily rescued the insects before dumping most into a glass tank. A reptile of some sort went into a feeding frenzy, gobbling up the crickets with a speed not usually associated with cold blooded creatures.

"I'm not saying he was, Miss Akira." Rechenko briefly patted her tiny shoulder. "I do think he spent an inordinate amount of time with only Jasmine there for company and he perhaps…fantasized over much."

"He only wanted to help people," Cynthia spoke in a tiny voice, "to eliminate suffering. How could anyone run him down?"

"That's why we're here," Bobby assured, slipping an arm around her. 

She sniffled once or twice, but he didn’t offer her his already used handkerchief. His shoulder gave her far more comfort than the perfunctory pat Rechenko had given.

Not to be dissuaded by Rechenko's allegations, Claire persisted, "but aren't you concerned about the potential inherent in a pain trigger? If it fell into the wrong hands, ramifications for torture are endless."

"There are infinite possibilities for good as well, one only has to see what is right in front of the eyes instead of postulating evil." Rechenko had the pompous tone of a lecturer who defended to death the right to build all sorts of nastiness in the name of scientific discovery. Nuclear weapons sprang to mind. "There is already in use an electronic device to turn off chronic pain. It must be surgically implanted, usually near the spine, and costs a mere $55,000. The sufferer must endure multiple surgeries for battery replacement and the calamities of faulty wiring, but it is truly a lifesaver for those with unrelenting, chronic pain. Every two seconds it shuts off the pain receptors to the target area, giving the patient instant relief."

"No kidding?" Bobby asked, fascinated in spite of himself.

"I wouldn't lie about pain, Agent Hobbes." 

"I have read about that in the Journal of the American Medical Association," Claire agreed. "So what you want to do is create a drug that essentially does the same job."

"Exactly, it would be much less cost prohibitive and require no invasive surgeries which have such a high rate of iatrogenic infections." Rechenko smiled proudly. "So you see, my work didn't really differ that much from Perry's, except in his own mind. We both wish to relieve the pain of others."

"You're leaving the University to pursue this endeavor?" Claire asked.

"Yes, unfortunately. Dr. Byrd voiced his irrational fears to the Department heads, and they didn't condone what I was doing and asked me to restrict my work, basically tying my hands until I was nothing more than one of his grad students." He sighed melodramatically. "Thus I am forced to go into the private sector where my work is more fully appreciated."

"Where are you going to work?" Fawkes asked as if he didn't already know.

"A pharmaceutical company called Rouche was happy to back me financially."  
He glanced at his watch, a gold Rolex. "And I really must get back to my packing. So much to do before I am settled in my new lab. But please keep me abreast of the ongoing investigation--I am so sorry to have lost such a brilliant, if flawed, researcher. And please give me a call if there's any word on the venom. I'd like to know what happened to it."

"We will, we will," Hobbes agreed. "Always good to have an expert around."

There was a palpable silence after the handsome man exited. Monprit had an almost hostile expression watching the lizard enjoy the last of the crickets.

"I can't stand him," Cynthia hissed. "He always says such nasty things about Dr. Byrd."

"He did have some salient points," Claire put in. When the rest of them stared agog at her, she back pedaled with a wave of her hand. "I meant about the pain research, not Peregrine. A drug that could help chronic sufferers would be a boon to science, except I don't see that it's feasible."

"Well, anybody can corrupt even the most noble idea in the name of perversion," Bobby sniped. "And that guy ain't got a noble bone in his body."

"I'm with Hobbes on this one," Fawkes agreed. "He's selling us a loada' crap. He knows we know and we know he knows…"

"And we are all together, koo koo ka choo?" Hobbes grinned, looking across the room at Fawkes. For one moment, they reconnected.

"Just think, Darien, if we could tweak the thalamus, the pain message center, so it could respond at will, the way you can do with the… " Claire stopped abruptly, suddenly aware that there were people in the room without knowledge of the gland inside Darien's skull. 

Cynthia and Monprit must have realized she was talking about something they didn't understand because both had perked up, their ears almost visibly quivering. 

"Ah, with the bio-feedback," she finished lamely.

"That is a common adjunct to conventional pain treatments these days," Monprit nodded, "But does Agent Fawkes have special abilities in that area?"

"My brother taught me bio-feedback to help control…headaches," Darien answered. "Monprit, why don't you show Hobbes and me where the accident happened?" He held open the door to get the grad student out before he could delve deeper into why Fawkes had 'special abilities'. "Maybe we can talk to campus security, see what kind of info they got?"

"Sure, it's just outside the building," Monprit agreed, but he was still looking at the taller man as if his analytical mind had just glommed onto something juicy and he wanted to take a big bite.

"Good thinking, Fawksey," Hobbes said out of the side of his mouth as he passed by, "Thanks for including me. Didn't really look like you needed a third wheel."

Floored by Hobbes' comment, Darien couldn't come up with a pithy comeback fast enough. It was becoming more and more obvious that the senior agent didn’t want a partner any more. Well, that was just tough. 

While he'd worked solo when he was a thief, Darien had gotten used to skating in the pairs competitions as an espionage agent. Hobbes was going to have a fight on his hands if he thought he could just cut Darien loose now. He'd always promised that Bobby Hobbes doesn't bail on his partner and Fawkes was determined to hold him to that if it was the last thing he ever did.

+++++++++++++++++++++

"I can't get myself motivated this morning," Cynthia said softly, looking around the cluttered lab. "There's so many things I ought to be doing, but I don't know where to start."

"That's totally understandable." Claire had to admit now that the room had emptied out of people, she began to feel Peregrine's loss more acutely. It wasn't as if they had been the greatest of pals; both their work schedules had been so busy that they had never had time to just hang out or even have lunch. But she had always looked forward to his e-mails and calls, enjoying the stimulating conversations with a person of her intellectual standing, something she hadn't had since her relationship with Darien's late brother Kevin. Peregrine would be sorely missed. "Cynthia, nothing has to be done today. Has his sister been called? Are there arrangements for a funeral?"

"I spoke to Dr. Byrd this morning, even before you called," Cynthia agreed. "But I'm not sure she'll be able to make the flight over from England. She has a bad heart, you know, it was the impetus for all of his work…to help cure his sister's pain."

"I know. Why don't you lock up here, get some rest and start fresh in a day or two. The animals have been fed, things will look better when everything's more settled." 

"I suppose, although I don't like leaving Jasmine and the others alone so much. Dr. Byrd wouldn't have liked it." She opened the top of the glass tank housing the Taipan, reaching out tentatively to touch the snake's back with a bare hand. "When I first took one of his classes, as an undergrad, I was terrified of snakes, but his love of herpetology entranced me and afterwards I changed my major to learn all I could. He said I had a real feel for snakes, isn't that weird?"

Claire, who had no real fear of snakes herself, was still worried about that tiny hand so near the reptile's sharp fangs and deadly poison. "Cynthia, what happens if someone is accidentally bitten while working here?" 

Jasmine, apparently having had her fill of the human's close proximity, raised her head, hissing, baring the arched fangs. Cynthia carefully withdrew her hand, going slowly to reduce any chance of the snake striking. She closed the tank's lid and locked it. "We always have anti-venom of the species we're dealing with available." The little Japanese girl frowned down at the trapped snake, "Dr. Byrd insisted on it--for safety reasons. Last year a freshman was messing around and nearly died when a Cottonmouth snake bit him. I couldn't tell you how many times Dr. Byrd was bitten by Jasmine, but he still loved her dearly. It's heartbreaking."

"So, the department keeps anti-venom for every deadly animal in the building?" Claire asked.

"For insurance purposes. We have some of the most common ones, and there are a few grad students who are learning to produce it. Did you know that Black Widow spider antitoxin is made from horses who've been immunized with the venom?"

"I didn't." Claire glanced around as if expecting to see a big white box with a red cross on it and the word anti-venom. "Is it all kept in a central location?" 

"Yes, and the few things we don't have actually on hand, we make sure are at least available in the city of San Diego. For instance, the Funnel Web spider anti-venom is prohibitively expensive and only manufactured in the last few years…The Zoo has a display of spiders and also keeps a ready supply. They have Funnel Web and a few others we don't." She sighed, trailing her fingers over the container housing the large black spider with the hairy legs, "Spider bites and things like that I can handle…but a hit and run, why?"

Not any more equipped to answer that question than she could have explained how the universe began, Claire shrugged, watching out the window as Bobby, Darien and Monprit examined the black skid marks on the parking lot below.

+++++++++++++++++++++++

"Campus Security reports that a nondescript dark blue or black sedan was seen speeding on the road leading away from that parking lot at just after six thirty, but nobody got a license plate number or saw anything," Hobbes reported to the Official and Eberts with disgust in his voice. "Monprit Vishnu only heard the car from the window of the lab. Ain't much more we can tell you. Tire tracks are the make most Fords come standard with. Police are releasing the body once an autopsy is performed, but nothing much should come as a surprise. It was a classic hit and run. Quick and thorough."

For some reason, Hobbes' cut and dried run through of the facts only exacerbated Darien's headache. Just a small irritant when he'd gotten up, it was now a full blown brain buster, pounding between his ears. Only the two grad students and Claire had seemed really emotional about Peregrine's demise and that was really beginning to bother him. Especially after Dr. Rechenko's reaction. He's made it sound like Byrd was a crackpot and better off dead so that others could continue on with the serious work.

"Well, since the police are ahead of us on this, there's not a lot we can contribute without stepping on departmental toes," Charlie Borden mused, his fingers steepled in front of his nose. "Eberts, did my order arrive yet?" he asked officiously.

"I-I'll just go find out." Eberts bobbed his head. "And I have the coupon for the large…" He smiled and scurried out the door.

So the Fat Man had ordered out and not invited the underlings. It wasn't like it hadn't happened before but with his head pounding so badly, Darien was less inclined to accept the slight. He needed to get out of there, glad of the excuse to get his own lunch. His stomach was sending up hunger signals demanding some of that take out.

"Keep on with the venom robbery," Borden ordered, "We've already gotten confirmation from Agent Monroe that she's half way to Australia and has been in contact with an informant that may be able to help link Rouche with the smuggled goods. If we can get a paper trail or even an electronic one we can get a court order to search the place and find the stuff."

"What if Fawkes goes in and gets a sample of the stuff, sir?" Hobbes asked politely. "See through, of course."

 _Of course, give the Invisible Man all the dangerous jobs._ Darien groused to himself.

"No can do, Hobbes, we need this by the book or Rouche's lawyers will have the whole case thrown out in a hot second." The Official looked expectantly towards the door. The smell of garlic chicken and hot sizzling soup was tantalizing to the senses. "We want to nail this company to the wall. Eberts has uncovered a wealth of indictments they just seem to weasel right out of. Now get out of here while I study our next move."

While gobbling up take out Chinese, if the aroma was any indication. Eberts reentered, carrying a large bag with Asian writing on the side and pulled out a set of chopsticks for his boss. 

When there were no offers to share even a grain of rice, Fawkes and Hobbes left to head over to the cramped little box designated as their office.

"C'mon, Hobbesy," Fawkes wheedled. "Let's get out of here, away from the snakes and spiders and crap. I know a couple of Big Macs with our names on 'em."

"Okay," Bobby agreed, not sounding at all enthusiastic about it. 

The drive over to the golden arches was strained, the air inside the van still like a hot afternoon just before a huge storm.

Soon they were seated just outside the kiddie enclosure with a supersized order of fries between them, two Big Macs, a Coke for Hobbes and a chocolate shake for Darien. 

Picking at the French fries, Darien studied his partner's shuttered face. Hobbes looked like he was about to launch into another one of his "Buck up and act more like a Marine" speeches. It felt like the Grand Canyon had split the earth between them and they were shouting at each other from different states. Where was the Hobbes who used to tease him about his scruffy appearance and crazy hair?

"Seems like a long time since we've just kicked back, snuck into a movie…" Fawkes started, dipping a fry into the tiny little paper cup of catsup. Some places were just too stingy to give out individual packets of the stuff. Remembering the last time they'd tried that, maybe it hadn't been such a good opening line. After all, he'd had an adverse reaction to the gland and been unable to completely unquicksilver his limbs. 

Hobbes had the same reaction, giving Fawkes a strange look before going back to rearranging the pickles and lettuce on his burger. It was never a good sign when Hobbes started obsessing about his condiments.

"Okay, so bad example, but maybe we could hit the Mammoth Slide at the water park? You liked that one…" 

"Fawkes, you don’t have to act like you want me around all the time." Hobbes said sadly, "Let's face it, things have changed."

"Like what?" Darien demanded sharply. One or two of the tots diving in the ball pit looked over at the table to see if the grown-ups were going to start a fight. He waved at them, which made a little blonde girl giggle wildly and dive back under the balls again.

"You don't need a watcher any more." Bobby stated flatly. 

"Yeah, and what's that supposed to mean?"

"As you pointed out so recently, you're not new at this anymore. You know what to do in a tense situation and except for the regrettable reluctance to use a gun, you get along just fine. I don't gotta stick around and hold your hand anymore, kid. No more madness, no more Bobby Hobbes."

The bite of hamburger and bun stuck about half way down Darien's throat and for a paralyzing moment he thought he'd need the Heimlich maneuver. A spat of coughing finally dislodged it so that it slid painfully down into his stomach. "H-hobbes! Is that what you think?" Literally at a loss for words, he groped for the right thing to say. How could Hobbes have twisted things around like this? "That I don't need you anymore?" 

"I'm used to bein' solo--a lot easier to go undercover that way." Hobbes shrugged as if it were no big deal, his face as much of a mask as Rechenko's had been. 

Only Darien knew him well enough to see the anger and pain underneath it. He just couldn't fathom where the hell this was all coming from. 

"You have a career to think about now--you're not some nickel and dime petty thief anymore. You've got a lot of potential and…" Bobby trailed off.

"And what?" Fawkes demanded, still trying to breathe past the lump in his throat. His stomach was clenching around what little he'd eaten, his mouth was watering with nausea.

"And, you could do better for yourself, kid. I think…I think maybe you had the right idea there, when you defected to Jonesy's crew at the FBI. You got a future, now. You can really do something with your life, if you tried."

"I thought I was," Darien began, his voice strangled. "I thought we were here for the same reasons. To kick some Chrysalis butt. To find Arnaud and take that sick Swiss-miss down." This was so totally out of left field he didn't know how to answer. "You sorry I came back? Is that it?" Fawkes asked, hurting so bad he could hardly see straight. What did you do when your partner was telling you he wished you hadn't bothered coming back to the Agency?

"No!" Hobbes said, and for a split second everything was all right again. "No, I'm not sorry you came back. I just wonder if you aren't. Sorry, I mean," He played with one of the French fries, breaking it in half and crumbling the rest. "Hell, Fawkes, you could just about write your own ticket here. You've got some trainin', you've got some experience and you've got one hell of a natural talent for the game. I look at you, man, and I see no end to the places you can go. But only if you step out there on your own. I don't wanna be holdin' you back, Fawkesy." 

Holding him back? What the hell was Hobbes talking about?

"Are you telling me you don't want me around? Don't want to be partners anymore?" Darien asked, swallowing with effort, trying not to believe that was what he was hearing. He stared at the balding man across the table while Hobbes took another bite of his hamburger, chewing it hard enough that the muscles in his jaw were clenching. Bobby was angry and hurting and Darien didn't have a clue to what he had done to provoke him.

"Yeah, that's what I'm tellin' you. You don't need me, Fawkes. Not any more. You're a big boy now." 

Fawkes' mouth dropped open and he stared in disbelief. "If that's the way you feel, then I guess I'll work with Monroe, at least when the Boss isn't pimping her to the fibbies."

"Fine." Hobbes nodded just once, his jaw tight.

"Hobbes…" Fawkes started, then stopped when the balding agent stood up.

"Yeah?" He put on a pair of sunglasses, hiding away those windows to his soul.

"Nothing, man, just…nothing." Darien wanted to shout his mantra back at him, that Bobby Hobbes didn't bail on his partner, but it still hurt too much to breathe.

"Then I got stuff to catch up on back at the Agency." Hobbes balled up his barely touched burger and tossed it over hand into the trash bin. "You want you a ride back?"

"No thanks," Fawkes answered stiffly, wishing he could just disappear right there in front of all the kids and the soccer moms. "I'll find my own way."

"I know you can, Fawkes," Hobbes said quietly, then turned and walked out. 

++++++++++++++++

 

ACT THREE

Lionel Jeffries drummed his fingers on his wide mahogany desk, flicking a bored glance at his humming computer screen. He was on hold; the person on the other end of the line was keeping him waiting far too long. He was just about to cut the connection short and shoot off a curt e-mail when there was a soft click and the voice came back into his ear via the tiny receiver plugged into his left ear.

"Had to relay the good news to my superiors."

"And they were pleased?" Jeffries held his temper. These contacts could make him a wealthy man for the rest of his days. He could retire without another thought about the welfare of sick whiners who bitched about their illnesses. 

"Inordinately. As long as you can control the situation. It was extremely bad judgment to have used those people in Australia. I hope something of that caliber of stupidity doesn't happen again, or there will have to be changes made."

"They've already been taken care of," Jeffries assured, smoothing a hand down his Armani silk tie.

" You have the ready materials at your disposal _and_ the necessary files to start the project?"

"There's only one more obstacle and that will be eliminated before the week is out." Jeffries grinned maliciously.

"I take it then you have things well in hand."

"There'll be a pain trigger drug by the end of this fiscal year, you have my word on it." Lionel Jeffries nodded with confidence, secure in his position of power.

+++++++++++++

After Hobbes left McDonald's, Darien didn't see much point in sticking around any longer either. The hamburger had lost its appeal and even the chocolate shake was as tasteless as chalk. He trashed his lunch, heading for the beach. 

The laughter and camaraderie of a bunch of high school biology students sent pangs of loneliness straight through his breastbone and he quicksilvered. Heading in the opposite direction from the school group, he'd wandered aimlessly, looking for a quiet hideout of his own. He hadn't intended to stay invisible the whole time, but had maintained the flow of quicksilver far longer than he'd ever done before. It was something he'd never really experimented with since the madness problem had been taken care of. Under the previous 30 minute limit, he'd never even stayed invisible for more than 10 to 15 minutes at a time. Now, it seemed the sky was the limit. 

He wandered the beach, quicksilvered, for nearly an hour without any madness or really negative side effects. The general all-over headache persisted, the kind the painkiller ads used to call Excedrin headache number 235, but that was probably due more to the fact that he hadn't eaten much lunch than anything else. It did give him a peculiar empathy for what it must have been like for Arnaud before he got the gland out. People looking through him as if he weren't there, because to them, he wasn't. 

The way Bobby had looked at him at the restaurant. Like he'd ceased to exist.

Out of sight, out of mind. 

Not wanting to have to talk to anyone, Darien debated about going back to the Agency at all, but knew he had to. He did have some professional ethics after all, and as Hobbes had pointed out, a career to think about. Sure, he could slide by with his little trick, as his erstwhile partner had termed it, but more and more Darien was discovering that doing the bare minimum wasn't enough. Not sure he could face Hobbes just yet he copped out by walking into the building quicksilvered, staying that way until he'd gotten to Claire's lab.

"D-darien!" Claire did a double take when the lab door slid open without anyone coming through. "Show yourself now!" 

Shaking off the quicksilver, he watched the flakes dissipate almost before they hit the ground. They never stayed visible very long, but they were pretty, like silver snowflakes. 

"Where have you been?" Claire demanded, shaking a latex gloved finger at him. "Bobby was very concerned."

"Sure he was," Fawkes snapped snidely. His head was still pounding and he was in no mood for another lecture. "Whatcha doin'?"

Claire studied Darien's face for a minute longer before tossing her long blonde hair over one shoulder with a flip of her head and went back to a beaker with a clear yellowish liquid inside. "Synthesizing poisons," she said off-handedly as if it were an every day kind of a thing.

Darien realized that she was probably used to dealing with dangerous chemicals on a daily basis. She used to whip up a batch of counteragent every other day or so and although it had been a vital component to Darien's mental stability it was a toxic chemical to the general public. Luckily, he no longer needed it.

What he did need right then was about four Advil, because the headache pounding just above his eyes was making it hard to even think straight. Luckily, it was a totally different pain than a Quicksilver madness migraine, so he let it slide. No use worrying the good doctor. 

"This right here is the so-called Kool-Aid that Bobby found on the floor of the warehouse," she said.

"And?"

"It's a toxin given off by some types of frogs." Claire sounded fascinated by this bit of information and turned the pages of a big book she had propped near her Bunsen burner, running her finger down a column of numbers. "The Poison Dart frog, to be specific. Everything the two of you found amongst those smuggled boxes was either toxic, venomous or at least highly poisonous to humans. Nasty, nasty stuff."

"Just makes me go warm and fuzzy all over." Fawkes curled his lip. "So, Rouche must be onto more than just that pain trigger thing. They're going for mass bioterrorism, is my guess."

Sighing, Claire nodded. "I can't discount that theory at this time."

"Crap," he said because there wasn't anything else to say. He had an overwhelming urge to go home and pull the covers up over his head like when he was a kid. But with the way his luck had been going that linoleum-tunneling spider would be doing its thing in the floorboards. Massaging his temples, he debated asking Claire for aspirin. Except admitting he had a headache would most certainly lead to all sorts of complications, the first being she'd want to draw blood. That was Claire's initial reaction to almost any physical ailment. Even when the patient was already bleeding, she wanted to siphon off more blood for some lab test.

"Is something bothering you?" she asked, transferring a pipette of a lethal substance from one test tube to another. "Do you want anything in particular or are you just hiding out in here?"

"Pretty much hiding out," Fawkes agreed unhappily. 

"There's yogurt in the fridge." She went back to her work, obviously aware that he and Bobby had had words, but not about to push. 

Darien had always liked that about Claire. She knew when to take a step back and let things work themselves out. Except how would they work out? What was the first step to take? In Fawkes' opinion, this was all Hobbes' doing. What was going on with him? Darien had been doing what everybody expected of him, taking classes, following orders, doing the job and now Hobbes had basically blown him off. Dumped him like some back seat one-night stand. He couldn't win for losing. The friendship he felt for Hobbes went far beyond partnership and much closer into the range of brothers. He'd already lost one brother, he didn't intend to lose another.

 

"Not very hungry," he said miserably.

"Do I need to schedule a physical?" she asked sharply, pronouncing schedule as the British did so that it rhymed with the word shed.

"I'm good, I'll go out and get something really healthy at Whole Foods." Fawkes held up his hands in defeat. The grocery was in the same block as his house and had some bitchin' brownies in the bakery. Two of those gave a buzz almost as good as a cup of coffee.

"Darien." She caught him with his hand on the control to open the metal door. "Give Bobby a little time, this is all new to him and he needs to adjust."

"Sure." He sauntered out, mulling over her words. What was all new to Hobbes? Breaking up their partnership? Because, if that was it, Hobbseyboy had another think coming. Deciding then and there that he wasn't just going to walk off with Monroe into the sunset, Darien Fawkes resolved that he didn't bail on his partner either. He just didn't know what the hell was wrong. Yet. All he had to do was find out and then fix it. Whatever it was.

+++++++++++++++

Returning to her work, Claire tried to keep her mind on the task at hand, but more and more she was disgusted with all that Rouche represented. They were a large, well respected company responsible for hundreds of drugs that helped people all over the world every day. Even Rechenko's research really did have applications for good. But any company that would smuggle such poisons instead of going through regular channels and then steal the fruits of a man's career just to speed up their own financial gains was rotten to its corporate core, no matter how many good products they manufactured.

Just as she'd identified yet another deadly toxin from the remains Fawkes and Hobbes had brought back from the warehouse, the phone rang, jangling her already stressed nerves.

"Hello?" She juggled the handset onto her shoulder so she could finish cleaning up after the last experiment.

"Claire? It's Cynthia."

"Yes, dear, how are you doing?" Claire asked sympathetically. She should have stayed longer with the distraught girl, but she'd had so much to do today.

"Monprit and I came back this afternoon to discuss moving the animals into another lab and he decided to check the last entry Dr. Byrd had made on his research. The file was empty! There's nothing left."

"You mean on the computer?"

"Yes, it's all gone! Do you think it could have been stolen?" Cynthia sounded perilously close to crying again.

"Are you sure?" Claire put down the test tubes she'd been labeling, needing to concentrate. "Maybe he put in a password, or encrypted them?"

"No, it was Monprit who really kept the computer files in order. Dr. Byrd wasn't very savvy about things like that. He wouldn't know how to do that by himself."

"Have you checked the University mainframe? It must be backed up there," Claire suggested sensibly. "Maybe he accidentally erased it when he tried to copy the material so he could take it home with him?"

"His computer at home and this one were networked, there'd be no need." Cynthia sighed, "Doesn't this make it look like someone killed him to get to his research?"

"I don't mean to sound dismissive, Cynthia, but you've been reading too many mystery novels," Claire soothed, snapping off her latex gloves. "There has to be a more logical explanation. I'm sure you'll find the research in a place you least expect it. His research was important, but not something worth killing for."

"All right, Claire, if you think so." The girl sounded worried though.

Privately, the blond doctor had to agree with her. She hadn't told anyone about the odd note she'd received from Peregrine and now the strange fact that his research was conspicuously missing pointed to something rotten in Denmark, or more to the point at Rouche. 

Should she tell The Official about her fears? Surely Peregrine's hit and run could no longer be considered an accident. He'd been murdered.

+++++++++++++++++

 

Hobbes managed to avoid running into Fawkes all the next day. Every time Darien even saw his partner's profile, Hobbes was off on some assignment pertinent to the case and he was being sent off somewhere else. The Fat Man kept them plenty busy, especially after Alex's Australian connections came through big time with a paper trail linking Rouche to the smuggled shipment. 

Well, technically, it wasn't a paper trail at all, more like a cyber trail, but Eberts, hacker extraordinaire, was up to the challenge. With just the names Monroe had obtained on the Australian end, he was able to wade through a parade of subsidiary companies back to the daddy of them all: Rouche. With that kind of evidence, the U.S. government had grounds to generate an injunction against the pharmaceutical company and levy an astronomical fine.

Then, just to make things interesting, a couple of animal rights groups and environmental activists got wind of the whole mess, too. Nobody liked a big giant who squashed endangered species under its feet and then pretended they didn't do it. Rouche did have corporate lawyers on retainer with nothing else to do but obfuscate and generate reams of paper. Aside from the 'no comment' to the local news people, not so much as a peep came from them that day. Between the added security they put in place after the story hit the five o'clock news, and the warning from the local attorney general's office to play it cool until everyone was sure of the facts, the Agency couldn't have gotten close to the mirrored monolith with a search warrant if they'd tried.

"Eberts?" Hobbes planted himself in front of the other man's tiny desk tucked back behind the filling cabinets. "You have that address I'm supposed to check out?"

"Yes, just a moment." Albert Eberts finished typing the last of his ongoing report on the current investigations. "Where's Darien?"

"Fawkes n' me are going solo these days," Hobbes said, his eyes on his shoes to avoid seeing the worried look that crossed the other man's features. "I cleared it with the Official."

"Do you think that's wise, Robert?" Eberts paused before hitting the print button, his brow furrowed.

"It ain't up to you, is it, Eberts?"

"Just that you two fit. Like Pinky and the Brain, Butch and Sundance, Bert and Ernie…" Eberts sounded wistful, never having had a friend like that. And to have Hobbes say so casually that the partnership was over….He found himself regretting it.

"The kid doesn't need somebody like me holdin' him back," Hobbes said gruffly, trying to ignore the tightness in his throat. "He was working there for the FBI for a minute and a half. That wasn't such a great fit, but you know he could go places, and I…can't. So, he needs to get out there and start finding his place in the sun." He cleared his throat, reaching for the paper Eberts held out for him. "Nothing holding him back."

"I don't think Agent Fawkes thought about it that way."

"Yeah, well, I always did do the thinkin' for the both of us." Hobbes started out into the hall, blinking his eyes rapidly to try and read the address.

+++++++++++++++++++

"How soon will you be able to start your experiments?" Jeffries asked, surveying the mess of boxes and piles of papers that littered the previously empty lab on the tenth floor of Rouche Pharmaceuticals West. Rechenko had been using the time after his last classes to transfer his possessions from one locale to the other.

"I need time to get organized," Sergi said irritably. He'd been so excited when first approached by the company to do his research for a considerable increase in salary, but now that the start of a whole new life was just at his fingertips, he was unaccountably nervous. And had been since Monday. Peregrine's untimely death had shaken his confidence. 

Yes, he had what it took to be a top-level scientist with the world waiting for his latest discovery, and the pain trigger drug, when it was finished, would guarantee him instant fame. But he had a niggling worry that what little control he'd ever had had been wrenched out of his hands even before he'd started work. "I cannot undertake a project of this magnitude with my work space cluttered and necessary equipment half unpacked."

"Well, get to work. There is a deadline, in case you had forgotten." Jeffries' pink cheeked, grandfatherly looking face was hard and cruel. "With all the publicity about the damned shipment, we need some positive initiative here. The VP at the corporate headquarters is getting nervous that something…or somebody will screw things up."

"What if those Fish and Game guys manage to get the search warrant they're threatening?" Rechenko couldn't help but think about the way things would have been back in Russia. He'd been a child during the worst of the KGB's reign of terror, but he could remember his uncle and father being dragged off in the night, screaming that they were innocent. He'd never seen them again. "This venom…"

"Is the most important component to your experiments," Jeffries interrupted, "Guard it with your life, and get started on your work. I need results, not arguments."

"And what if there are no results under your deadline?" Rechenko challenged, frightened. He no longer felt like king of the mountain, but more like a peasant on the way to the gulag.

"This isn't old Russia, comrade," Jeffries answered as if he could read Sergi's thoughts. "We don't kill people just because they disagree with us in America." He turned on his heel, striding out, confident he'd had the last word.

Almost mechanically, Sergi picked up a sheaf of papers to slide into the filing cabinet but was startled by a distinct rustling sound, almost like a rattlesnake. It wasn't until after he'd visually searched the room for any live reptiles that he noticed the papers in his hand, shaking as if there was a strong wind in the room. He dropped them to the floor, watching them spread out like leaves on a pond. Jeffries was going to kill him.

 

++++++++++++++

 

"Oh, good, Darien, just the person I wanted to see." Claire grabbed his hand the minute he walked in through the front door of the Harding building and started to drag him back out. 

While it was nice to be greeted so enthusiastically, he'd only just arrived and had planned on a big cup of coffee and maybe time to hang with Hobbes before doing anything really strenuous. Stopping abruptly, he realized that was never going to happen again. 

"C'mon, Darien," Claire persisted.

"Where're we going?" Fawkes asked irritably.

"To the University, to Peregrine's office," she announced. "I need a big strong man to help me carry a few things." 

So that's what he'd been reduced to, doing his invisible trick and brute strength for lifting heavy objects. "Can I at least stop for a cup of coffee?"

"Of course." Claire gave him a sunny smile, unlocking the doors of her SUV with a press of the little button on her key-ring. The horn beeped twice and they climbed inside. "Starbucks or do you have something else in mind?"

"Starbucks," he muttered. "What is it I'm supposed to lug around?"

"Cynthia Akira is very concerned because Peregrine's research has turned up missing. She wants me to take Jasmine into my lab to keep her safe."

"All this for a snake?" Darien squeaked. "D'you think Rechenko stole the research?"

"That's what she thinks, but I don't see what use he would have for it. It's not really related to his own, except peripherally." Claire pulled up in front of the ubiquitous coffee emporium. "I'm more inclined to believe that Peregrine himself did something with it before he died, and we'll never know what because he took the secret with him."

"Claire?" He waited until they had both gotten out of the vehicle then came around in front of her so she couldn't avoid looking up at him. Height did have some advantages. "What is it you're not telling me?"

"Well…" She blew out a breath that puffed out her cheeks, "Just before I found out that Peregrine had been killed I got a strange e-mail."

"From?"

"Peregrine. It sounded…drastic. If he hadn't been obviously killed by a hit and run I was afraid he was about to…"

"Kill himself?"

"I don't know. I was literally calling him that morning when Cynthia told me the news."

This took some digesting. Darien ordered a double mocha espresso and an apple cinnamon muffin. Claire got tea and a blueberry scone and they were on their way in minutes. After getting a few swallows of caffeine and sugar into his system, Darien felt more alive. He hadn't been able to get much sleep the night before because his mind wouldn't shut down; he'd been ruminating over the reason for Hobbes' bug out. What had he done? Was there something Hobbes wanted him to do?

"Have you told the Fat Man about this?" Fawkes asked after a few minutes.

"No, because frankly I was beginning to think I was just being paranoid."

"Just because you're paranoid doesn't mean…"

"No one's out to get you," she finished with a quirky smile. "I know, but it's not like it has real bearing on the current case, does it?"

"We don't know it doesn't," Fawkes countered. "At this point, everything that has anything to do with venom is suspect in my book." 

"Well, then it probably is far safer that we have Jasmine with us. I don't want Cynthia or Monprit getting hurt."

"Can you really manage to help keep that guy in the States?"

"I have the qualifications for professorial staff, I could get myself down as his advisor or mentor."

"Bet Alex could pull a few strings. She knows just about everybody."

"Wonderful idea, Darien. Did that muffin sufficiently restore your strength or do you want to finish mine?" 

He took the rest of her scone eagerly.

She parked in the lot just below Peregrine's lab, only a few feet from where he'd met his demise. Darien found he had to walk double time to pass the still partially visible police outline on the asphalt. Claire never looked in that direction at all.

It was quickly decided that Jasmine should make the trip in a small animal carrier so they could empty out and clean the huge tank before loading it onto a dolly. Monprit helped out with the brawn, but Fawkes let the experienced women do the snake handling. Despite his unease the transfer occurred quickly without any complaint from the snake. 

Cynthia lifted a small warming light out of the terrarium, a water dish and some  
rocks following in its wake. "Oh, my God, what's this?" She held up a small square plastic case.

"Cyn?" Monprit turned, his dark skin paling. "What's a CD doing in Jasmine's tank?"

"It has Dr. Byrd's handwriting on it," Cynthia said faintly holding it out to Claire.

Without further ado, Claire slipped the CD into the slot in Peregrine's computer, hitting the icon that popped up to reveal the contents. "It's his research," Claire breathed, "Jasmine is the keeper of my heart."

"What?" Fawkes leaned over her shoulder to read the document but it was all science-eze to him.

"That's what he wrote to me. Jasmine is the keeper of my heart and if anything were to happen to him I should take care of her. He meant for me to find this."

"Well, all the more reason for us to get it…her back to your lab where there's more security." Looking over at the two grad students, Fawkes felt a strong instinct to protect a couple of innocents who'd gotten in way over their heads. "Look, don't tell anyone for now that we've found this. If there is any trouble brewing, we'll take care of it, okay?"

"Dr. Rechenko was here yesterday asking about it," Cynthia said weakly.

"You didn't tell me that!" Claire ejected the CD from the computer and slipped it back into the jewel case, then into her purse.

"I didn't know where it was and told him so. He was really upset." She bit her lip nervously, "Do you think he…killed Dr. Byrd?"

"We're getting way ahead of ourselves." Darien almost wanted to pat her on her pretty little head but restricted himself to rubbing her back instead, "Leave it to the experts and don't try to worry so much. We've got it covered. Let's just get the tank cleaned up and we're outta here."

Darien's arms were killing him by the time he and Monprit had gotten the huge tank loaded into the SUV. Claire drove back to the Agency, her face solemn, and he didn't have the heart to intrude. She'd lost a friend, which he could sympathize with. Where was Hobbes, anyway? 

Once again, Darien was enlisted to carry death in a box, only this time it was alive. He didn't tell the pretty doctor how queasy it made him to have a girl named Jasmine on his lap.

"Cynthia was right," Claire said after she'd supervised the installation of the tank back in her lab. They'd had to shove several tanks of Claire's eclectic menagerie out of the way for Jasmine's new home, but in the end it all fit.

"About what?" Darien rubbed all the new sore spots, staying as far away as possible while she placed the long pale snake back in the tank and locked the lid.

"Rechenko could have had something to do with his death. Don't tell me you haven't thought about that before now."

"Sure, but we have no proof." Crossing his arms across his chest, he leaned against the exam chair, glad he no longer had to sit in it quite so often anymore. "So far everything connects back to Rouche. It's possible that Rechenko got caught up in stuff he didn't expect."

"He did sound sincere in his hopes that the drug could have beneficial uses," Claire said.

"Claire, the guy's a jerk of major proportions but he may not be culpable in the theft."

"Culpable." She grinned, "Building your vocabulary in your spare time, Agent Fawkes?" She gave an impertinent emphasis to the word 'agent'.

"Found some old Reader's Digests at the thrift store." Darien tipped an imaginary hat at her. "He probably saw all the dollar signs they were offering and didn't think a whole lot about where the venom came from." He grimaced. "In fact, he probably inadvertently told 'em where to get it."

"I think we do need to talk to the Official." She hooked a lock of hair behind her ear, "How're you doing…lately?"

"Why?"

"I know that what Bobby did hurt your feelings."

"I'm not six, things like that don't hurt my feelings any more," Fawkes lied, the old lump back in his throat. He pushed half-heartedly at his limp, lackadaisical hair. Even the hair gel wasn't holding up lately. The fact was he felt like crap and the headache he'd acquired two days ago had never really gone away. Probably would have helped if he'd slept more. 

"You wear your emotions on your sleeve, sweetheart." Claire tipped her head to look up into those puppy dog brown eyes. "Probably not the best trait for an agent, but a wonderful one for a friend. You two need to sit down together in the same room and talk things out."

"Claire, he doesn't want to work with me anymore. He made that pretty clear."

"I suspect there's more here than meets the eye."

"That could be said about a lot of things, yep." Darien nudged her with one elbow to show there were no hard feelings and ambled out of the lab behind her.

Coming out of the elevator, they could hear excited voices issuing from room 202. Alex Monroe, proving just why she had earned the five star rating, was back from her transcontinental flight. Even after15 hours in the air, Monroe didn't have a hair out of place.

Although he'd never quite managed to get below her prickly exterior, Darien had to admit she had a killer body, in more ways than one. She often dressed in clothes one step above hooker wear, though, and today looked like she'd just stepped out of an ad for "Leather Babes in Spikes". He'd found a cache of the out-of-date magazine in a bin at the thrift store the last time he'd dropped in to browse and taken them home for further perusal. 

"Welcome back, Miss Monroe." Eberts stood in his usual spot behind the Fish, his eyes shining as he gazed reverently at her. She gave him a smile before taking off her little black leather jacket to drape over a chair. Eberts immediately scrambled over to hang it up for her.

Darien slunk in, taking up residence in a ladder-backed chair shoved up between the windows. 

"Look who's back!" Hobbes said brightly as if she were his favorite person on earth. Bobby was as hyper as a flea, unable to keep still. He pulled up a chair for the amused Monroe, shaking her hand, and offering a cup of water. He tried settling in a chair only to jump up again and circle the room, walking within inches of Fawkes' long legs.

"Alex!" Claire exclaimed, "Great to have you back." 

"Her information may be the key to bringing charges against Rouche," Charlie Borden praised. "Good work, Agent Monroe."

"Thank you, sir." She gave a tight nod, "I'm ready for about twenty hours off in my own bed after nearly two days flying there and back."

"Your work had an extra added bonus." Eberts opened up the financial section of the newspaper with a flourish. "According to the Dow Jones, Rouche stock plummeted to an all time low after news of their imminent indictment in the smuggling."

"Way to go!" Hobbes raised his hand in a high five before remembering that his partner was no longer by his side and quickly changed the gesture to a raised fist. 

Eberts responded enthusiastically shaking his own fist in solidarity.

"Just glad to know I helped in the team's effort." Monroe said modestly, totally unlike her usual bravado. She was dragging with exhaustion.

"I have something to tell you, sir," Claire called out, linking arms with the dark haired woman. "I'll just walk Alex out first." They walked out together, heads down for some serious girltalk, " Thank you ever so for the referral to the gym, it was terrific."

"You're welcome. Did you try the pool?"

Since he thought Claire should be the one to tell the others what they'd uncovered that morning, Fawkes focused his attention on his old partner. Frankly, Bobby Hobbes didn't look like he was getting much more sleep either. He was all twitchy with restless energy, pacing around the room like a caged tiger. "How ya doin', Bobby? Haven't seen you around much."

"Yeah? " He shrugged. "Been really busy, Fawkes, you know, here and there."  
That was more than apparent, Darien felt tired just watching the ceaseless movement.

"Hobbes, park it on a chair until the doctor gets back here!" the Fat Man ordered, more than tired of Hobbes' hyperkinetics.

"I'm here!" Claire sailed back in. "Darien and I went over to the campus to get Jasmine, Dr. Byrd's Taipan." She went on to describe the morning's events, ending with the discussion about Rechenko.

"The guy's involved all right," Hobbes said sourly, "Up to his eyeballs."

"Why haven't we shut them down yet?" Darien spoke up, having given little to the conversation so far. "I mean we know the place is dirty."

"The lawyers are duking it out in Federal court as we speak." Charles Borden sighed, his jowls sinking into his chest. "There's not a shred of evidence that they had anything to do with Byrd's death. The car was never identified or found."

"No nice personalized plates, huh?" he grumped.

"Even the tire tracks were standard make for a late model Ford," Eberts supplied. "There are over eleven thousand Fords in the greater San Diego area."

"What about the stolen venom?" Claire persisted.

"We weren't exactly there with a warrant when we saw the stuff, so it's inadmissible in court." Hobbes looked directly at Fawkes for the first time. 

Darien could sense his partner's unhappiness from across the room. So they were both miserable. He'd let Hobbes stew for a while before pulling some subtle con artistry that would lure the little ex-New Yorker back without him even suspecting. The question was what would work? And how long before he started to reel Bobby in? He'd rather be working with a partner right now, truth be told. 

"If I had a sample of that venom I could compare the protein structures to some I got straight from Jasmine," Claire proposed. "Wouldn't that go a long way to proving the origin of the venom Rouche has?"

"Yeah, but if I stole some back, they'd know." Darien sat up straighter, catching her idea.

"Who could they tell?" The Official looked truly nasty with a toothy grin on his thick face. "I like that kind of thinking, Doctor. As long as they can't trace it back to us."

"I could go, grab a vial and be out in no time." Darien was already cataloging his knowledge of the exits and entrances. He hadn't been able to see the whole building, but there must be several ways in and out. And the problem of how to approach that big, open lobby. Where was the loading dock and could he get in unseen from there?

"Not without back up you don't," Bobby said decisively.

"I'm used to going solo," Fawkes said tightly, using Hobbes' own words against him. "Don't need a partner to break in anywhere." 

"They've changed all their security since the news broke. Me and Heyes went by yesterday." Hobbes' whole demeanor changed. He felt calmer, able to focus on the mission. "They've got a guard in that front booth now, checking everybody's ID."

"Hey, it's me, remember?" Darien said softly, almost afraid to break the spell. They were communicating, however awkwardly. "Mr. Invisible? I can go anywhere I want. No ID required."

"Good thing, 'cause the last picture you took broke the camera, Frankenstein," Hobbes teased. "You really think you can do this?"

"Yeah, Bobby, I do." 

"Eberts," Borden barked. "Get us a floor plan of the Rouche building."

"Yessir." Eberts beamed, ready to be of service. He bent over the computer by the Official's desk, tapping away at the keys.

"No way can we go in tonight." Hobbes frowned, thinking furiously. "Too many variables. We need to scope the place out, watch for their patterns."

"I've done this before, Hobbes," Darien deadpanned, but this was so right. The two of them back in the groove, speaking each other's language.

"All we have to do is claim that there was still one vial left at the University," Claire added in her bit. "And we have them dead to rights."

"If the stuff matches the snake." Hobbes had to go with the what-ifs.

"This is gonna work, Hobbes, I can feel it in my bones," Darien assured him.

The printer clattered to life, spitting out a full set of copies of the building's original blueprints. However Eberts managed to come up with the stuff he did, nobody was ever willing to look a gift horse in the mouth.

"Let's go do some recon, Charlie." Hobbes grinned up at Fawkes, rolling the papers into a tight tube.

"Roger that, Colonel Hogan." He saluted smartly, following Hobbes out to the van.

"You think I'm Hogan?" Hobbes asked, looking pleased.

"Well, you got that Klink thing goin' on here." Darien ran an affectionate hand over his bald head, "But you're the leader of this little band of wacky commandos, so yeah…as long as I can be Newkirk." He'd always liked Richard Dawson's Cockney ex-thief best, that is until the actor had gone on to the demeaning job as game show host on "Family Feud".

"Then, since I'm the leader, you gotta do as I say." Hobbes shook a finger at the taller man, climbing into the driver's seat.

"I'm just waitin' for you to impart some of your vast espionage wisdom, Colonel." Fawkes leaned back in the seat, feet against the dash, happy for the first time in days.

Checking the perimeters, as Hobbes termed it, or casing a joint, as Darien liked to say, although essential to a well planned job, was inherently boring. Without every piece of information a job could be ruined. Not knowing all the ins and outs and who'll be where when could compromise one's partner or even forfeit a mission. Having learned that before he was out of high school, Darien was able to sit quietly in the cab of the van just outside the fence of Rouche, while Hobbes scanned the fortress with binoculars. 

As Hobbes had said, there was a lot more security now and although he had slapped a fake TV station logo on the side of Golda to fit in with the cluster of news vans still parked in a huddle, there was no way any of them were going to be able to just walk right in. Except for the Invisible Man, that is. After a couple hours of watching the ins and outs of the guards and comparing the floor plan to what they already knew of the interior of the building, Darien was ready for bed.

"It's gettin' late, Hobbesy." He scrubbed grit out of his eyes, the headache again pounding behind his temples. "I need to get some decent sleep if we're going to pull this off tomorrow."

"Not we." Hobbes said softly.

"What?"

"I was just along for the ride, today: you already said you'd work with Monroe." He didn't look over as he started up the van, jockeying for position around a double wide with Channel 42's logo on the side. "She's back now."

"Uh-uh," Darien negated, his heart speeding up so fast he had to use the bio-feedback breathing to calm down or go involuntarily quicksilvered. "You started this case with me, you damn well have to finish it. She wasn't here tonight, you were. When I want back up, I want the best."

"She's the one with the stars." He agreed, eyes on the road ahead.

"General-schmeneral. You're still the Colonel around here."

+++++++++++++++

ACT FOUR

 

"Well, gentlemen, how did it go last night?" The Official loomed over his desk like a whale cresting out of the water to vent his blowhole. 

Monroe lounged against the wall near his desk, no trace of fatigue left from her whirlwind globe-trotting. She wore such a low-cut, tight, little tee her cleavage kept drawing Darien's attention every time she inhaled. 

"Nothing Fawkes can't accomplish see-through," Hobbes assured, "We've both been on the tenth floor before, he just has to get in there and take a vial. Shouldn't take more'n a couple of minutes."

"You agree with that, Fawkes?" the Fat Man asked gruffly.

"Sure. The security they hired are all new, and aren't used to the place yet. I could even do it without the gland," Fawkes scoffed. "There's only the one main gate entrance. The rest of the fence is covered by video surveillance and they're so far apart, they all have blind spots." He commandeered a chair, stretching out jeans clad legs. "Inside, unless they have some hidden cameras or something really high tech, it's like takin' candy from a baby. The offices weren't locked, none of that pass card crap…"

"We weren't able to drive all the way around the perimeter cuz of the guards, but Fawkes did a little invisible reconnoitering and there's a big loading dock in the back. If we have to surround the place, that's the side to hit hard. Easy to get in to the building once you're past the back gate. That one's electronic, though."

"Eberts," the Official called.

"Searching for an override code as we speak, sir." The blond man smiled a little secret smile. 

Darien watched absently to get his eyes off Monroe's balcony and chuckled, reminded of Henry Blake and Radar O'Reilly. Eberts was getting so he could read the Fish's mind. 

"What about employees working late?" Alex asked shrewdly. 

"Nobody will see me," Darien boasted.

"Full of yourself," she smirked.

"Why don't you come along and find out?" He challenged, so it sounded like his idea before Hobbes asked her first.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world." Monroe pursed her perfectly made up red lips. "We'll need surveillance equipment. That hat you wore with the camera in the logo should work well."

"I hate that hat," Fawkes groaned, "It makes me look like a geek."

"And that shirt doesn't?" She plucked at the vintage Hawaiian print shirt he wore. Real rayon with a pattern of Hula girls, pineapples and Tiki masks.

"That's a classic," Hobbes spoke up. Darien sat up in surprise, never expecting Bobby to come to the defense of his clothes. He was usually the one who started the ragging. "I'll be back in the van monitoring his input. You can be the go between, Monroe. This operation needs to be short and sweet." 

When the phone rang, Eberts automatically answered, one hand still typing commands into the computer. "May I ask who's calling?" he responded politely. The voice on the phone surprised him, his light blue eyes widening. Lowering the receiver, Eberts put a hand over the mouthpiece. "It's Mr. Rechenko. He wants to speak to Agent Hobbes."

"Why?" Hobbes demanded suspiciously.

"Mr. Hobbes is otherwise engaged," Eberts lied smoothly. He'd recently become proud of his ability to act more like an agent and lying was one of the many talents he was trying to hone to perfection with Hobbes' help. His fair complexion was a definite draw back when trying to maintain a good falsehood, though. He listened to the lightly Russian accented voice for a few more minutes, then blinked and said, "I'll just put you on hold until he's available, then." He suited actions to words, placing the phone in the cradle. "He says he wants to meet with you at the Rouche lab."

"It's a trap!" Hobbes and Monroe said in one voice.

"Of course it is." Charlie Borden chuckled nastily. "So we'll go in prepared." He picked up the phone, pressing the hold button with authority. "This is Agent Hobbes' boss, what exactly is your plan?" Listening to the scientist, Borden nodded, memorizing the information in an instant. He rarely had need to write anything down and when he did, Eberts was always on hand. "Where and when?" 

Waiting to know the outcome of the conversation, all three agents in the room showed signs of tension. Monroe tapped on the arm of her chair with agitation, clicking her French nails in a staccato rhythm that looked like it was just about driving Hobbes up a wall. Darien just about expected his partner to walk over and stop the noise, but he was apparently content with shredding a discarded sheet of paper into increasingly tiny pieces. Meanwhile, sweat began to trickle with annoying unpleasantness down between Darien's shoulder blades, dampening his Hawaiian shirt. Sprinkling the confetti he'd created into the garbage can, Hobbes glanced over at Fawkes with a look that said he was just about ready to snatch the phone out of the Fat Man's hand. 

Borden finally replied to whatever the answer to his questions had been with an emphatic, "It's agreed. He'll be there."

"Where?" Hobbes practically attacked the desk, his body vibrating with stress.

"When?" Monroe was right behind him, crowding the Official who waved them both off with a dismissive gesture.

"He wants a meet with Hobbes in his lab tonight, at nine thirty. Says most of the staff will be out by then, and he'll put you on the guard's lists."

"Did he say what he knows?" Alex challenged.

"Inside information, couldn't get him to say more than that." Borden frowned looking for all the world like Winston Churchill about to launch a pre-emptive strike on Germany. "No doubt his phone is tapped."

"Wait a minute." Fawkes stood. Now he was restless and agitated. "We already had a plan goin' here. If this is a trap, we should stick to what we started with. I should go."

"Why you?" Hobbes jutted out his chin like he wanted to start a fight.

"He knows me, too, and I can go in under the wire, invisible."

"No way." Hobbes chopped air with a stiff hand. "He asked for me, first! I'm the one he talked to back at the lab, I'm the one going in."

"What difference does it make, Hobbes? A few minutes ago we were talking about me sneaking in like a thief. Now I could waltz right in the front door, and you don't want me to go? Make up your mind," Fawkes retaliated, suddenly angry. "It's making my head hurt."

"This is a trap and you know it, Fawkes." Hobbes jabbed him in the chest the way he'd done when Fawkes was trying to sneak out of the desensitization class. Only this time it was a lot harder. "You're better than this. Think about it, he gets you in there and incriminates you somehow, making us look like a bunch of government thugs harassing the poor misunderstood Rouche. You'll be on your way back to prison in a heartbeat…"

"If I screw up is the Secretary gonna disavow all knowledge of me?" Darien asked sarcastically. "Or just you, man?"

"Can it, both of you." The Official's voice cracked like a whip silencing the entire room. "I agree with Fawkes. He goes in first, 10 minutes before the meeting time, invisible to scope things out."

"Rechenko asked specifically for me," Hobbes resisted stubbornly.

"At nine thirty, Agent Hobbes, you go in, walk past those guards like you own the place. That way we have two agents in place in case there's trouble but I want constant monitoring at all time." He banged a fleshy hand on the desk, "You'll wear a wire, Fawkes, so we can get some hard evidence on these bastards. And since there's no limit on your abilities anymore, stay out of sight the whole time."

Back to being the one-trick pony again, Darien thought with annoyance. "I just wait for Hobbes? No one-on-one with Rechenko?"

"Get that vial of venom if you can, but let Hobbes do the talking."

"While I cool my heels in the van?" Alex muttered.

"While you make sure there's back up." Borden leveled his gaze at her, "You were with the team yesterday, Agent Monroe, you damn well better be today."

"I do what I'm told to do, sir." Alex put an almost imperceptible sneer on the word. "It's only nine thirty in the morning now, we have plenty of time to work the kinks out of the plan before nightfall." 

"Fine," Hobbes ground the word between his teeth. 

Fawkes felt like they were being ripped into pieces. One minute he and Hobbes were in the zone, the next in outer space. "Let's get at it, then."

+++++++++++++

_"Come into my parlor said the spider to the fly…" was never one of my favorite children's songs, but now it buzzed in my head, creating a cacophony of noise when it was joined with the "I hate spiders and snakes" song. I really need to buy some new CDs._

Naturally, it was one of those nights where any sane person would be curled up with a book or renting a movie instead of getting ready to infiltrate hostile premises. An unseasonable cold front had all the TV weather people talking about the flip side of El Nino. Stronger than average winds whipped around trees and telephone wires like mini tornadoes, and as they drove across the city, Fawkes kept his eyes out for a witch on a bicycle and a squadron of flying monkeys. 

Maybe if Monroe wore a blue checked dress and pigtails, she could be Dorothy, which made him the scarecrow and Hobbes…? He was no longer sure whether Bobby was the Lion, all brave in the face of adversity or the great and mighty Oz himself, lots of hot air to hide his insecurities. 

At night, Rouche was lit up with floodlights that reflected weirdly off the mirrored walls. Which made it look like a cross between a movie premiere opening and the set for a horror film. Who knew what lay on the tenth floor? 

Acknowledging that he was letting his imagination get way out of hand, Darien indulged himself because he'd been frazzled all day. Hobbes had vacillated between his old self and the new one with such unpredictability it was frightening. One minute he'd be sprouting the "be a Marine" lecture and the next, Hobbes was staring at his younger partner as if he were dreading the unknown. Tension crackled through the offices of the Harding Building like white lightning. 

Monroe quickly had enough of Hobbes' schizoid behavior, barking orders like she was the one in charge. Not knowing who to follow, Fawkes just sat back and waited for the fireworks to begin.

They somehow never developed, both parties maintaining civility. As long as Fawkes didn't talk to either of them, he was just fine. He'd stick to the Fat Man's original script. Go in at nine twenty, take the lay of the land and then hang around to watch while Hobbes parleyed with Rechenko. Hopefully the guy had something real that they could take to the Attorney General and shut the monolithic cesspool down. They were only a small cog in the overall conglomerate, thus cutting down Rouche Pharmaceuticals West wouldn't make a dent in the bigger scheme of things, but it would feel damned good. If the Agency could stop them from production on the results of Rechenko's research, that would be enough for now. 

"Here's your hat, the camera's all ready to go." Monroe pulled an ugly ski cap out of her carry all, handing it over with a flourish. Fawkes crouched in the back of the van crowded in between all her video hook ups and monitors.

"Why can't we get one of those kangaroo caps? That would look stylin'." He complained to refocus his mind away from the fear that this was one big badness they were heading into.

"I thought it was the height of fashion for a cat burglar." She raised one perfectly arched eyebrow. Touché.

"Well, as Hobbes has so regularly pointed out lately, I'm not doin' that gig anymore." Darien shoved on the hat, looking over at his friend. 

Hobbes was still in the driver's seat, twisted around to watch the two in the back of the van, a perfect poker expression on his face. 

"Good luck, Fawkes," Bobby said softly. "But it's not like you'll need it, you know your stuff."

Internally Darien thought, ' _God, be nice to me now?'_ Externally he simply nodded in Hobbes' direction and said gruffly, "See you in a few." Turning to Monroe, he asked, "camera working?" 

She turned on the monitor, revealing an image of herself as he could saw her. All three were dressed in black, almost in uniform, black turtlenecks, slacks and shoes. Alex had accessorized with a black scarf tied around her long hair. She looked tough and competent and more than a little embarrassed to see herself on camera. "Get out of here, Fawkes," Alex snorted.

The wind tore at his leather jacket making him wish he'd worn the warmer one, but it wasn't black. Like the color really mattered because, as usual, no one would be able to see him. He hunched down in his coat to walk across the parking lot before going inside. Hobbes was going to drive the van up to the building just before the appointed hour, but it wouldn't look good to have him hovering outside for 15 minutes, so Darien was left to flat foot it.

The hardest problem was how to get inside without the guards noticing anything unusual. Although invisible he still had to use the door like everyone else. Just before the Rouche gates, Darien stepped behind a tree and stimulated the gland, feeling the familiar tingling coldness as the quicksilver coated his entire body. Thus disguised, he crossed the huge, almost deserted, lot at a trot. Most of the TV news vans had gone, and the guard in the little booth looked both bored and cold. Glad for the ski cap, Darien had to admit it did a good job of keeping his ears warm.

Why did they always encounter such unseasonable weather when they were working on a mission like this? He'd have welcomed some nice warm night to go skulking around in, just once.

"You reading me?" Fawkes asked quietly when he was within a few feet of the building. It was unaccountably weird not to be able to see himself reflected in those shiny mirrors. 

"Loud and clear." Monroe's voice was tinny in his ear. "How're you going to get in?"

"Let me worry about that," Darien shushed. He was kind of worried about it though and had just about decided to go around the back to get in through the loading dock when Dr. Jeffries came through the lobby, bustling through the front door like he had places to go and people to see right now. 

_'All right!'_ Darien crowed silently and grabbed hold of the door, keeping it open after Jeffries had gone through and sidled on in, the door practically smacking him in the ass as it shut. He didn't really relish the idea of climbing 10 flights of stairs, but it would look awfully suspicious if the elevators started going up and down by themselves. 

Walking soft-shoed across that big checker board floor, he remembered how the footsteps had echoed the last time he'd been there, and he eased the stairwell door open just wide enough to get through.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

"How's he doin'?" Hobbes asked, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. This wasn't right somehow, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was.

"Climbing stairs," Alex answered shortly. "You want to tell me why you're ripping him a new orifice lately?"

"Kid needs a push in the right direction. He needs to start up that ladder of success…"

"Away from you, you mean?" Alex narrowed her eyes, glancing away from the boring program of Fawkes climbing endless flights. The sign for the eighth floor flashed on the screen for a moment and the audio picked up his huffing breaths. "Far be it from me to tell you what to do, Hobbes, but Fawkes knows where he wants to be, and I don't think it's two rungs higher than where he is right now."

"He could work anywhere. He's not stuck at this piss-ant poor excuse for a spy shop any more." Hobbes stared off at the building. They were parked two blocks away, but the floodlights made Rouche visible for miles around. Strange the way it tried to blend in during the daytime and shouted out its existence at night. "The Company'd kill for an invisible spook like him."

"Yeah, they would, you're probably right," Alex agreed. "But I'll lay you odds Fawkes doesn't think so." She turned her attention back to the screen, centering her mind and focusing her energy on the night's events. "He's on the tenth floor now. Showtime."

Hobbes started up the van, letting it idle for a few minutes until it was time to drive into the lot. He could hear Monroe contacting the agents in the van parked one block behind them. Everything was in place.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Darien moved cautiously down the hall, but as Rechenko had said, there was nobody left on this floor. Not like anyone could see him, but he wasn't at all in the mood for surprises. Both labs, which had been bustling in midafternoon, were closed up and dark. Screeches and hoots from the lab monkeys tucked into their safe cages sounded spine-chillingly eerie in the dim hall. Down at the end, the door to the third lab was open, a thin shaft of light spilling out into the corridor. It looked exactly like quicksilver in Darien's monotone version of the world.

Peeking inside, he didn’t see anyone. The room was cluttered with boxes and packing crates only partially unpacked. Stacked near the rear were a few tanks with snakes and a few lizards of some sort. The refrigerator where the stolen venom was kept hummed loudly in the otherwise silent room. 

Pulling open the big white door, Fawkes noted that the little rack of vials was missing. Who had taken it? Where was Rechenko? The good doctor didn't seem to be in evidence, but just to be sure he took a tour of the place, skirting boxes to walk around the central table. Broken glass crunched under his feet, a small pool of colorless liquid spreading out on the floor.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

"He's in the lab," Monroe reported, watching the video feed from the camera in Darien's hat with rapt interest. "Nobody's there."

"I'm about to go in." Hobbes checked his watch. He was exactly on time. After parking the van in the closest space to the front of Rouche Pharmaceuticals, he scanned the vast lot for signs of hostile presence. "You talked to Heyes again?"

"They're in position just outside the gate." Alex nodded her head, wishing Fawkes wasn't moving his head so much. The picture constantly jumped and bounced up and down as he walked around the lab, but suddenly the picture froze. 

"Oh, crap," Darien said distinctly, loud and clear over the audio link. It was the first time he'd spoken since he'd entered the building. His breathing sounded harsh and fast over the speakers. "Monroe, are you getting this?" he asked sounded scared.

"I see it." She hissed, "Hobbes, Rechenko's down, maybe dead."

Whipping his head around so fast he heard a vertebrae crack, Bobby starred at her. "Are you sure?"

"Fawkes, is there a pulse?" Alex asked into her mic. She watched a hand appear suddenly on the screen as the Quicksilver flaked off Darien's skin, and hover over the body of the handsome scientist. Rechenko lay curled on one side with one hand tucked up against his chest and the other reaching out for who knows what. Fawkes' long fingers pressed into the scientist's neck, palpating for a pulse.

"I got one, it's faint, but he's still alive." The body reacted to his touch, arching to frightening rigidity and then twitching spasmodically. Darien scooted back, his hand leaving the camera's picture. 

"Try to bring him around," she urged, clenching her hands in frustration. She wanted to be there, at the scene, not relegated to the background, but this wasn't her case. "Hobbes, go!"

He was already out of the van and pushing through the front door. Plastering a fake smile on his face, Bobby sauntered up to the reception desk. "Here t'see Dr. Rechenko."

A different Asian receptionist from the one he'd met before eyed the balding man critically. Even standing behind the desk, the Asian was so short he made Bobby look tall. Hobbes straightened his spine, emphasizing the height difference.

"He expectin' you." The little man nodded towards the elevator.

Hobbes had to force himself to walk slowly when every instinct was screaming for him to run as fast as possible. Sirens were going off inside his head that something was seriously wrong on the tenth floor and he should never have let Fawkes go up there alone. He jabbed at the indicator button, willing the elevator doors to slide shut.

+++++++++++++++++++++

 

"Dr. Rechenko?" Darien called, giving his shoulder a little shake. His head lolled to the side, but his eyes flickered briefly. Strange grimacing tics flickered across his face every once in a while that involuntarily bared his teeth. What had happened to him?

Once during his first term in Soledad, the Red Cross had come in and taught a bunch of the inmates CPR. Darien had never been sure of the logic of teaching prisoners the skill except maybe they thought it would come in handy during a prison riot or something. 

All of a sudden the lesson dropped back into his memory. A for airway. Tilting the injured man's head back elicited an instant response in the form of a gasping breath.

Good, that took care of B for breathing, too. Darien put his hand back down on Rechenko's neck, feeling that weak thrum of blood in the artery.

Suddenly, pain shot up from Darien's hand to his shoulder like mainlining battery acid. Red-hot lava was incinerating his veins. The whole upper right side of his body was in agony in a matter of heartbeats and he feebly tried to shake away the pain, but his hand was barely cooperating.

For all the years of keeping his distance from spiders, he'd never actually been bitten--until now. A nasty eight-legged freak was still attached to his hand, its fangs embedded in the rapidly swelling flesh. It was getting increasingly hard to think clearly but with some distant still functioning brain cells he recognized the hairy-legged thing as a Funnel Web. 

_Double Crap._

This was bad.

With rapidly dwindling strength, Darien grabbed the spider in his left hand and flung it across the room. It was now quite obvious what had happened to Rechenko. The spider had been hiding in the scientist's clothes after it bit him.

Claire's voice echoed in Darien's brain, "The bite is usually immediately painful and symptoms occur within a few short minutes." She didn't know how right she had been. The fang marks radiated agonizing pain as if thousands of needles were still injecting the deadly venom into his hand.

Cradling his wounded hand, Darien was startled to see Rechenko's eyes open. "J…jef…fries," he whispered, but Darien could barely hear him over the roaring in his ears from his own pulse.

He'd also forgotten about Monroe. Between trying to make out what Rechenko was trying to say and the shouting coming from the ear jack it took him a few moments to realize she was screaming his name.

"Fawkes!" Monroe repeated for the fifth time, ready to rip off her headphones and run full tilt into the building. She pressed her sweaty palms flat on the TV screen as if she could reach through to touch the horrible wound she could see on his hand. "Answer me!"

"I'm here, Alex," he managed, but even talking was difficult already. His heart was going so fast he could feel the quicksilver encroaching over his left hand.

"I'm calling in the troops!" she said breathlessly. "Where's Hobbes? What happened?"

"I got bit," Fawkes replied as carefully as possible, focusing on the reddened punctures on the pinkie side of his right hand.

"Fawkes?" Hobbes' voice was sharp with concern. Already woozy, Darien didn't realize Hobbes was standing next to him until the shorter man touched his shoulder.

Darien had already decided what to do, remembering how he had cauterized the 'Fish's facial wound the year before to stop the spread of the Catavari's poison. Without a word he wrapped his cold, invisible left hand over the right one, freezing the bare skin on contact. 

Then he screamed.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

 

Tucking her feet up under her on what Darien always termed the dentist's chair of torture, Claire nibbled on her favorite snack, a long twisted stick of red licorice, while pouring over the print out of Peregrine's research. She was engrossed in his meticulous notes, the elegant theories and the amazing conclusions he'd arrived at were stimulating her scientist's brain. 

This could work, it really could. She just needed to tweak a few areas here and there. If she could convince the University to keep on Monprit, maybe even manage a grant to fund the project…? She chewed her licorice thoughtfully.

Better yet, a memorial fund in Peregrine's name for foreign-born students who would then promise to take the knowledge they'd obtained back to their countries of origin to spread the scientific discoveries. Surely someone would underwrite that. She'd take it upon herself to talk to Dr. Delphinium Byrd in the morning. She'd certainly be happy to have her brother remembered in such a noble way.

Glancing at the clock, Claire sighed. She always hated when the agents went out in the evenings. Most nights she just went home, tried to sleep, with her phone right next to her bed. Tonight, she kept meaning to go, but Hobbes had said they'd be completely done by 10 p.m., so she'd decided to wait. Make sure they got the venom back.

Make sure everyone got out safely. Who was she kidding? There were no longer any worries about Quicksilver madness, but she still dreaded the phone ringing when Hobbes, Darien and Alex were out on some dangerous assignment.

As if on cue, the phone rang, jumpstarting her heart. She closed her fingers around the plastic receiver, giving a brief prayer before picking it up.

"CLAIRE!" Bobby's voice assaulted her ear. "He's been bit, what do we do?!" He was bordering on hysteria and while Claire would have loved nothing better than to break down completely herself, she forced herself into a glacier calm.

"B-bitten by what?" she replied. No need to ask who 'he' was. It had to be Darien.

"The Funnel Web." Bobby had retrieved the little mangled corpse. Darien's throw had smashed it against the wall, but there was still enough left to recognize the killer arachnid. 

"A tourniquet," Claire commanded. "Slow the progress of the poison and then get him out of there, fast!" She tried to remember if Cynthia had said they kept the anti-venom at UCSD. 

"He's already taken care of that. He froze his hand." Hobbes kept one hand on his partner's shoulder, trying to comfort. Darien twitched uncontrollably with mini seizures and was sweating like he'd run a 5k marathon. "Where do we go?"

"He'll still need a tourniquet. Take him to the zoo. As fast as you can." Claire wished she could do a million different things at once but knew her place was to co-ordinate the team and get Darien medical help as quickly as possible. "They have the anti-venom there. I'll call the police to let you in, if necessary. He'll need more than one injection."

++++++++++++++++++++++++++

"We're leaving now! I'll call you back when we get there" Hobbes snapped his cell phone closed, wondering how he was going to get Darien up to walk back to the van.

"Fawkes," He used his best command voice. "You need to stand up with me, pal, c'mon, I can't carry you all the way back to the van. You gotta do it on your own."

With effort Darien slid his feet around in front of him. It was already so hard to breathe he had a hard time doing that and anything else at the same time. "Is…Rechenko… dead?" he asked not wanting it to be so. That meant he would be next. 

"He'll be all right." Bobby said, lying through his teeth. Rechenko looked more dead than alive, but Bobby hadn't given him more than a moment's notice. "C'mon, up with you, big lug." Darien had managed to come unsteadily to his knees and attained his feet with a lot of support from Hobbes.

"Oh, god…Bobby, everything hurts," Darien groaned, pulling his right hand against his chest. "I…can't…"

"Yes, you can," Hobbes insisted, grunting under his partner's weight. They managed to make it around the lab table but there was no way he was going to be able to get Fawkes out into the hall and down to the elevator. He was too damned tall for Hobbes to carry for a long distance. He'd done it once before and nearly thrown out his back.

"Jef-fries left jus' b'fore I go' here." Darien muttered. "It was him…"

"No more talking and a lot more walking." Bobby panted, then spied a chair with rollers pushed up next to the computer terminal. "You're in luck, buddy boy, found you a ride."

"Tha's good, Hobbesy, I…love rides." Darien dropped weakly, coughing. He shivered with involuntary muscle spasms, breaking out in waves of goose-bumps and then rivers of sweat. 

+++++++++++++++++++

 

Alex Monroe held a pistol on the frightened Asian receptionist, keeping him still while Heyes and Curruthers stormed up to the elevator for the tenth floor. More Agency personnel were on their way and she had Golda's motor running for the rush to the zoo. All they needed was for Hobbes and Fawkes to get the hell down here. What was taking them so long? 

Just as the other team had disappeared into the elevator, the second set of doors slid open and Hobbes came barreling through, pushing Darien in an office chair. Fawkes looked like death warmed over, his face pale, neck arched back with the effort to breathe.

"Took you long enough," Alex bitched because she didn't want to comment on how bad Fawkes already looked. It had been barely 10 minutes since she'd sat in horror, watching him get bitten on her video screen.

"Just drive!" Hobbes ordered, manhandling the almost unconscious Fawkes into the van. 

Golda fishtailed as Alex put on the speed, barreling out past the parade of cars streaming into the Rouche lot. 

"Monroe, give me that scarf." Pressing his back against the back of the van seats, he maneuvered Fawkes in between his legs to keep him safe on the wild ride.

Letting her dark hair fall loose, the woman handed over the black square of silk, keeping her eyes on the road. "That's Anne Klein." 

"It's savin' his life." Hobbes wound the fabric around his best friend's arm, creating a strangely decorative tourniquet since the frozen area was warming up. Darien moaned in pain, trying to pull his arm away from the torment. "It's okay, pally." Hobbes soothed gently. "Everything's gonna be all right." 

Except it wasn't. Deep down in his heart, Hobbes was afraid he'd ruined everything. Letting Fawkes go up there alone when they should have been a team. Together. Like…Starsky and Hutch. He couldn't shake from his memory the episode where Starsky almost died in his partner's arms from an unknown poison. "Hey, Fawkesy, I thought I always got to be Starsky. Hutch wouldn't leave his partner without a fight. Huh, buddy?" Hobbes tucked his arms around Darien's lanky frame, protecting him from rolling as Monroe whipped Golda around a tight curve. "You're not s'ppsed t'be the one who gets bit." Darien gave him a ghost of a smile, his chest heaving to pull needed oxygen into his lungs. They just had to get the anti-venom in time.

Driving with one hand, Alex used her cell to coordinate with Claire and the zoo officials to have the anti-venom ready for them upon arrival. Luckily there were zoo employees there after hours, or that would have been even more of a major hassle than it already had been. It was not the first time she'd used her vast connection of friends in high places to help the Agency, but with the exception of the time she'd helped free Bobby from the clutches of a mobster because of her acquaintance with the San Diego mayor, this was the most satisfying. 

The van had barely stopped moving when a zoologist from the reptile department came running out to offer them hope. Bobby grabbed the proffered syringe, jabbing it into Darien's jugular with a practiced hand. It wasn't the first time he'd given an injection. He'd had lots of practice with the counteragent. Only this time he was giving him back his life not just his sanity. 

 

+++++++++++++++ 

"How's he doin?" Hobbes asked, his eyes never leaving the still form of his partner. 

Darien lay in the Agency's small infirmary, the soft sucking hiss of the ventilator loud in the quiet room. Hobbes was exhausted and he'd mostly been standing around for hours watching Claire work. She'd called in the per diem nurse with the necessary clearance who worked for them during crises and had enlisted Hobbes, Monroe, and Eberts to help with scut work, but most of the patient's care had fallen on the doctor's shapely shoulders. Now, there was a possible light at the end of the tunnel.

"He's stable, but it's still critical right now." Claire rubbed the grit out of her eyes, weary beyond belief. 

Hobbes had hauled the semi-conscious Darien into her lab 15 minutes after the impromptu injection at the zoo. Just in time for a second dose of antivenom. Luckily, the zoo vet had given Bobby five more vials of the stuff as back up, and Claire had administered another one immediately. 

"It's always difficult to judge how he will respond to treatments because of his unique blood chemistry."

After placing Fawkes on a ventilator to take over the work of breathing for his failing lungs, the blond doctor had worked ceaselessly through the night to stabilize his sky rocketing blood pressure and weakening heart. 

"He took a terrible jolt to his body. The venom is a powerful neurotoxin. Stops the sympathetic nervous system…the heart, breathing, swallowing…" She sighed. "Early administration of the anti-venom is essential. You saved his life, Bobby. Dr. Rechenko wasn't so lucky." 

Heyes and Curruthers had brought the scientist in soon after Darien, but he was already comatose and had gone far too long without the initial dose of anti-venom. Despite an injection of the drug and frantic measures on Claire's part, the man had died only an hour after he'd come in.

"That was so close." Hobbes shoved his hands in his back pockets to hide their shaking. "Can't believe how this went down. Looks like Jeffries took off with the lot. He seemed like a feather-brained old geezer t'me."

"Rechenko's research is completely gone." Alex entered, staring gravely at the sick man in the hospital bed for a few moments, "The venom, too, except possibly for the broken vial we found near where Rechenko's body had fallen." She'd gone back to Rouche after delivering Darien into Claire's care to help search the labs. "I think there's enough there for you to test…determine that it's from Jasmine."

"I'll do my best." Claire agreed, getting herself a drink of water. How long had it been since she'd eaten or even gone to the bathroom?

"He'll be all right?" 

"I think so, Alex, yes." Claire smiled at her.

"What's going on in the real world?" Hobbes asked, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling like he'd been in the basement of the Agency for a year instead of a night.

"We've still got agents at Rouche carting out evidence. As well as FBI, Customs, ATF…everybody. They were up to their knees in excrement." She arched her eyebrows with a mirthless laugh. "The Attorney General's going to have a field day. A lot more than just stolen venom…"

"Crap." Hobbes tugged the blanket up higher under Darien's chin, looking at the unconscious man tenderly. "He saw him leave, y'know?"

"Yes," she agreed. She'd already printed up the image off her video monitor to use for the All Points Bulletin. 

"Fawkes told me just before he stopped talking." Hobbes rubbed the soft nap of the polar fleece blanket between his thumb and finger, triggering ancient memories of childhood blankies and chocolate chip cookies. "I figure he was in that dark sedan we saw pull out of the lot."

"2LSX235," Alex rattled off. Hobbes had automatically called out the license plate as it had passed and she'd memorized it. "Hasn't been seen at the airport or the train station so far."

"The same car that ran down Peregrine?" Claire asked in astonishment.

"Don't think so," Alex answered. "But I'll go nudge Eberts, make sure he's started on the wants and warrants…" 

Hobbes was no longer paying any attention to her, his focus on the pale figure in the bed. "I screwed up, didn't I?" he asked, smoothing the blanket one last time.

"If you hadn't been there, he would have died." Claire rubbed his black-sweatered arm. "You saved his life."

 

"If I hadn't been there…I almost bailed on him. Claire. And I always said I wouldn't ever do that…." His chest was in a vice remembering how close he'd come to abandoning their partnership. Their friendship. During the interminable and hellish night, he'd finally realized he'd been feeling threatened by Fawkes' growing competence as an agent. The irony of that, after spending two years helping the kid get ahead in the game, was not lost on him. "Screwed up big time and I hope like hell I get to fix things."

"You will, Bobby." Claire enclosed him in a hug from behind, her arms briefly clasping his waist. Laying her chin on his shoulder she both gave and received comfort. "Darien isn't about to give up on you. Don't you dare give up on him."

 

++++++++++++++

EPILOGUE

_Boring._

Darien flung an outdated "People" magazine onto the floor next to his bed, the pile of rejected books and crosswords testimony that he was feeling better enough to be bitchy and out of sorts. He'd been cooped up in the tiny Agency hospital bed for four days now and while he wasn't ready to go one-on-one with Hobbes in the boxing ring, he was ready to be out of confinement.

"Hey, partner, how're you doing?" Hobbes came in, a hopeful smile on his face, arms loaded down with bags.

"Okay," Darien replied, his throat still ragged and sore from being ventilated for two days. He widened his eyes at the other man's neat dark suit and maroon tie. "Dressed up t'come visit me, Hobbesy? I'm flattered."

"Dr. Byrd's funeral." Hobbes arranged his purchases on a small rolling table.

"Wondered where everyone was this morning." 

"Very moving." He loosened his tie, peering into the bags for the correct item. "They released a flocka birds while they were lowerin' the body into the grave."

"Falcons?" Fawkes guessed.

"No, doves."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"You want a bunch of predators flying around downtown San Diego?" Hobbes smirked, "Claire and Alex went over to the gathering they were having' after the funeral with the lady Dr. Byrd."

"That's nice of them, whatcha got?"

"Stopped off to get you a coupla things." Hobbes handed over a huge juice cup with a jaunty logo on the side.

"Jamba Juice?" Darien grinned, taking a long pull on the straw. The orange juice concoction tasted faintly of strawberries and maybe coconut. 

"With extra vitamins and protein powder." Hobbes shook his finger. "Get you on the road to recovery so's you can get back where you belong."

"Look, Hobbes…" Darien sighed. He was in for another lecture about how he deserved better than the Agency and should move on to where he was appreciated for more than just a gland in his head.

"And strangest thing." Hobbes stopped for a moment to take a swallow of his Starbucks French Java blend, "There was a thrift store next to the juice place. I just poked in and there it was, your name practically written on the cover." He placed a vintage "Mad" magazine on the bed, flipping open the pages to a cartoon with two pointy nosed spies holding bombs. "Some things are just meant to be, I guess, what d'ya think, partner?"

"Partner?" Fawkes grinned, his dark eyes meeting the smaller man's. "No more solo?"

"Gotta keep you outta trouble, my friend."

"Me?" Darien drank some more of the thick smoothie, it went down soothingly on his sore throat. "I didn't do anything."

"You kept your head, more'n I was doin'."

"Yeah, well I figured you were about due for some payback for all the times I went off on you." Fawkes grinned shyly, remembering an unfortunate incident where he'd tried to kill Hobbes. Bobby telling him to get lost hardly equaled. "You think that old coot killed Rechenko?"

"A spider killed the doctor, like it nearly killed you." Hobbes stopped, unwilling to bring up the emotions that had assaulted him that night. "And that old coot turns out to be a major player." He made a disgusted noise, then swallowed more coffee. "Eberts keeps uncovering more dirt on the guy. He's behind a lot of stuff you don't even want to know about."

"And he's gone?"

"Disappeared into thin air." Hobbes snapped the fingers of both hands like a magician. "Poof. Almost as invisible as you, pal."

"Think someone helped him? Someone who wanted that research?" Darien swirled his cup, watching the orange fluid swirl like a mini whirlpool.

"SWRB." Hobbes nodded. "Fat Man's convinced."

"So, somewhere out there, he's concocting that crud?"

"Looks like it." 

"But we don't know where he is."

"It's just a matter of time, my friend." Hobbes tried to sound convincing, "We're onto him now, and we'll be watching for that pain trigger drug. He's on our radar screen."

Major depression nearly settled on the two men, but the arrival of two out-of-breath women lightened the atmosphere. 

"Good afternoon, Darien!" Claire greeted gaily. While the funeral had been a sad experience, it had helped her say good-bye to an old friend and introduced her to a new one. Dr. Delphinium Byrd had been greatly cheered by Claire's ideas for a memorial fund and had immediately gotten to work wording the proposal. "Give me a minute, Alex," the blonde doctor said before disappearing down the hall to the lab. "Need to feed Jasmine."

"Looks like you two are having a party," Alex observed. "We brought you a few leftovers from the repast."

"What?" Darien asked eagerly, happy for the distraction.

"Cookies. The University put on quite a spread, and Claire thought you'd like a little change from convalescent food." Alex placed a small bakery box on the table next to Bobby's bags. "Mostly oatmeal. Apparently, funeral goers prefer chocolate chip."

"More for me." Darien dug into the box to find one of the treats. "Thanks, Monroe."

"I just carried the box." She shrugged, kicking off the proper funeral shoes she'd been wearing.

"Like you just drove the van," Fawkes nodded, flexing the fingers on his bandaged right hand. It still hurt, a lot. He had little memory of the race to the zoo, but Monroe and Hobbes' voices had kept him calm when his whole body was falling apart.

"Part of the team, Fawkes. The third wheel." 

"Only way a tricycle can roll, Monroe." Hobbes offered her a cookie.

She declined, a grateful look in her beautiful eyes. "Claire and I just stopped off to get her things, we're going over to the gym."

"Hey, there's a chocolate chip in there after all." Hobbes discovered after shifting through the remainder in the box. He took a big satisfying bite.

"All ready. Jasmine's devouring a little shrew." Claire reappeared with her gym bag over her shoulder. 

The other three made gagging noises at the idea of the pale snake ingesting a rodent. Hobbes briefly considered not finishing his cookie, but it was only a momentary hesitation. 

"I'm really going to enjoy having the Taipan around. Australia has such a wealth of unusual fauna," Claire chattered. "Did you know that one third of all the poisonous snakes in the world come from that one continent?"

"I'm _really_ glad you didn't tell me that before I went over there." Alex made a face. "You keep those snakes all cozy in their tanks and out of the other offices, won't you?"

"I'd really like to get my hands on an Olive Seasnake." Claire waved at her patient, "Don't eat too many cookies, Darien, I'll be back in an hour to give you your shots."

"Can't wait, take your time!" Darien defiantly took another cookie before they were all gone.

"It's one of the most poisonous snakes in the world." Claire continued as the women left, "For Monprit's research, naturally…"

"Naturally." Alex said dryly.

"Want I should go out and rent a couple of movies, Spiderman?" Hobbes asked.

"No more web slinging for me. I hung up my wall climbing shoes a long time ago, man." Darien raised his Jamba Juice left handed, knocking the cup gently against his partner's Starbucks one. "I'm a spy now."

"So you are." Hobbes agreed.

 

FIN


End file.
